Felicitas
by Jess S1
Summary: Felicity was born a long, long time before computers... and just about everything else. How will Oliver and Team Arrow react to The Game? OLICITY
1. Prologue: Death

**REVISED: 9/18/2015. Just over 1,000 words added.**

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 **Felicitas** **by Jess S**.

 _ **Prologue: Death**_.

 _Felicitas' P.O.V._

 _780 B.C. - KART-HADASHT._

Felicitas froze as the violent sensation shuddered through her head and down her spine, looking around wildly even as she called out, "Guards!"

"Your youth may make this sound strange," an unfamiliar voice told her, and then a man she'd never seen before stepped out from the shadows across the room. "But mortal men aren't the best shields. Not against our kind."

Felicitas spun away to flee back through the door she'd just entered through and down the hall until she found the nearest guards. She _should_ hear them already, and the fact that she didn't hear pounding footsteps and clanging armor heralding their arrival scared her almost as much as this stranger.

This warrior that likely wanted to kill her—like the others. Who'd clearly been waiting for her in her chambers, which should be among the safest, most secure places in the entire city.

"No, no," the stranger chided her, his longer strides crossing the room in the time it took her to flee the few steps back to the entrance. He caught her arm just as she'd managed to yank one door open, and tugged her back inside."Don't run, little one. I'm not going to hurt you." He let her yank her arm away and stumble back from him while he closed the doors, then turned back to her.

Felicitas took another step back, holding the wrist he'd released even though his grip hadn't been hard enough to hurt her. She was sure the fright she was feeling was all over her face as she backed away a little more. With everything that'd happened to her, though, all of her lessons on proper bearing and behavior couldn't quite tamper down the terror.

The man just stood there, studying her for a long moment.

While Felicitas' eyes darted between him in the balcony. She'd survived the agony of flames. She'd survived being run through. Even come away from both unscarred. Would jumping from her own balcony, one of the highest in the city, offer the same results?

The frightening stranger sighed. "You really are _new_ , aren't you?"

Felicitas blinked, pausing as she realized, only as the wash of terror invoked by that horrible headache's forewarning and the absence of safety in her sanctuary, that he wasn't attacking her.

Yes, he wasn't letting her leave, and he was armed. He had two swords on his back. One of the iron gladius that the Romans favored. The other was an older Greek xiphos. Either one would do her harm if they were drawn: there was no other way out of this no longer safe sanctum, except for the balcony over the cliffs and sea. Leaping for Poseidon's realm might be her only escape—she certainly couldn't fight him. The one time she'd tried to pick up the heavier of the blades she'd had a very hard time even holding it along, and those two swords probably weren't his only weapons anyway.

...But his hands weren't reaching for those weapons. Or her.

The Phoenician queen would never be able to say what it was that made her trust him. Whether it was the weariness in his voice or the unexpected gentleness of his grip as he'd forced her to stay.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was talking to her. Only one of the seven men that'd tried to kill her since Kart-Hadasht was nearly sacked and she somehow survived had really done that. He was the third one, and he'd told her who he was before he'd tried to attack her, killing three of the royal guards before her husband had cut him down. The other six had just come running at her with weapons drawn and her death in their eyes. Only the first one had taken her completely by surprise because their approach was always heralded by the same strange headache she'd just felt. Not that knowing they were coming made it any less terrifying.

"Wha-What?" the stuttered word left her lips tinged with all the scared confusion her life of the last four years deserved.

"My name is Methos," was how he answered, a small smile pulling his face a little out of the weary mask that made him look more like an old man than the warrior he was. "And you, I believe, are Felicitas, queen of this fine city?"

"I... I am." Felicitas nodded confirmation, trying to draw on all the bravery her mother had raised her to possess to act like the ruling sovereign she was.

Of course, Queen Dido would always be a nearly impossible example to follow, even if Felicitas had found herself thinking the flames were a better end than what awaited her at the hands of the raiders that'd attacked Kart-Hadasht nearly a decade after her mother had sacrificed herself on a pyre for their city. But she would always endeavor to try.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" Felicitas forced herself to say, not wanting to keep thinking about her mother—down that line of thought, especially involving fire and death, their lay only pain—and knowing that that answer was one she really needed.

It seemed almost too much to hope for that this might be a man that could tell her why so many strangers wanted her dead. But she'd sensed his presence just like she had the others, and yet he hadn't drawn the blades he wore across his back. Yet.

"Hum," Methos chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the door he'd just barred her from exiting. "As I've come to realize my wish that mankind might forget how they forged blades, or warfare, I generally have to settle with just being happy for the moments that no one wants my head."

"...Your-Your head?" Felicitas asked hesitantly, even though she'd made the connection previously.

All of the men that'd tried to kill her had seemed like gods: rising again and again from injuries that should've slowed—or even slain—them, until they lost their heads.

It'd been a lucky move, the first time, when her husband had decapitated the man that'd broken into their bedchamber in the middle of the night, intent on her death. The thunderstorm that his death had unleashed had been terrifying. Like all of Zeus's wrath was exploding within their bedroom for a few brief moments. But it hadn't harmed them. And it was also reminiscent of the little arcs of lightning that'd dance across her skin whenever she hurt herself—healing her instantly—ever since that night.

After that, they'd known how to take the other men down, but Eligius had always hesitated. Only because the lightning storm that their death unleashed always attacked her. She was left unharmed by anything other than her terror and a headache as she pondered over who the man that'd just died in front of her had been.

None of the men had been a match for her husband; the mighty warrior-prince she'd specifically wed so that her people would have a great defender. A man she'd always respected, and even become fond of once she'd managed to master his language so that they could speak to one another.

And Eligius loved her; said he had from the moment he met her, even if he'd come to the 'new' Phoenician city for a kingship, after meeting her he'd been willing to simply be the Queen's husband when the people of Kart-Hadasht had insisted Dido's daughter remain their ruler. That was why he fought for her with every fiber of his being. He always had.

They'd tried talking, too. With the men that wanted her dead. At least the ones that Eligius had so far outmatched in skill that he was willing to let them live for a short time if it meant the answers they needed. But the only thing any of the men would pause to say to her, the thing that every one had said was: 'There can be only one.' The words were clearly for her; not her husband or their guards, all of whom were clearly ignored, as if they weren't worth looking at as anything other than obstacles. One had accused her of cheating, of cowardice, but wouldn't explain either.

Looking at the warrior that stood so confidently, so wearily in front of her now, though, Felicitas was struck by the notion that this might not be a man that Eligius could beat. She'd always been good at reading people, seeing traits and resemblances that fit together like a puzzle in her mind to give her a pretty good idea of who—and what—even a stranger was.

And this man... he was a warrior in every sense of the word. He stood with the confidence of one who was long accustom to war. Tired of it, perhaps, but not ready to lay down and die yet either.

He looked young. Physically. With the perfect musculature of a man at his prime who'd been training and fighting all his life. No permanent folds in his skin from laughs or frowns or scowls. No gray or silver slivers in his dark mane. At first glance, she'd presume him younger than her husband.

He wasn't though. No.

The weariness in his face and shoulders reminded her of the old warriors that proudly directed the new ones through training routines they'd done thousands of times before.

His eyes were the oddest part. Not just because that weary wisdom was there, too. But the odd mix behind that wariness. Sadness and hope at war in eyes the same color as her own.

"You've figured out that much, at least, the importance of our heads staying attached." Methos' voice was gently sympathetic as he smirked at her. "Or your defender has. The tales of demigods dying in their attempts on your life, whilst Zeus raged on your behalf, can't mean anything else."

Felicitas shook her head as she finally let the question out, "Why do they want to kill _me?_ I-I haven't done—We're not even at war with—"

"It isn't about anything you've done, personally or as a Queen of the Phoenician Empires," he cut her off, that smirk morphing into a sympathetic smile. "It's about power. Or purpose, I suppose."

Felicitas stared at him for a long moment, utterly perplexed, " _Wha-What?_ " the word sounded so small as it stuttered out of her mouth again that she scarcely recognized her own voice.

Methos sighed again, then indicated the lounging area by the balcony. "This conversation may take a while."

And it did.

Her husband returning to their rooms went about how she'd expected. Eligius had attacked the stranger he found with her because the absence of any of the royals guards that were supposed to be guarding their primary residence having panicked the warrior long before he'd burst through the door expecting to find her already dead again. Methos had disarmed him—taking his sword and depositing him on the vacant lounge—with every bit of the daunting ease she'd half-expected.

But that was barely a footnote in the tales her mentor-to-be told long into the night.

Felicitas was immortal. An Immortal.

She'd never age.

Never die.

Unless someone cut off her head, and other Immortals would try. Because of 'The Game'—a bizarre and horrible purpose some Immortals had chosen to live by, even embrace, sometime in the last millennium.

A millennium. A thousand years. A time-span Methos spoke of flippantly because he was a quarter of the way through his _third_.

And for half that mind-boggling lifetime, he'd been known by most as 'Death.' Death of the Four Horsemen.

"Why should we trust you?" Eligius had asked.

While Felicitas wondered, "Why help me?"

The ancient man smirked and replied in the same tongue. Not Phoenician. He'd switched to her husband's language with no more difficulty than he'd disarmed the mortal warrior after his arrival. "Call it my try at redemption," he answered her first, then raised an eyebrow for her husband. "What choice do you have?"

Felicitas would always consider herself fortunate for fate bringing this myth to her as a mentor.

Even though she'd resisted at first, unwilling to leave her home, her people, even though a part of her understood that she had to. Understood that there'd come a time when the people of Kart-Hadasht would fear their un-aging queen if she stayed too long.

Even five years later, when Eligius was murdered by another Immortal, whom Methos refused to help her hunt down because he'd 'made her what she was.' Felicitas couldn't hold his odd honor against him. Not that it had been easy to be forgiving as she planned the funerals.

The children first. The three she'd called her own and made her heirs were actually Eligius' nephews and niece. His older sister had wed a Phoenician man who'd fled from Tyre with Dido, who'd always counted him as one of her most trusted advisors. He had served Dido and Felicitas both very well, till he fell in the same battle that made Felicitas an Immortal. His wife, Eligius's sister, had been taken by childbirth some years earlier; giving birth to the twins, her second son and only daughter. It had been only right to take them in. And when no children were born to Felicitas herself, it'd been only a little difficult to convince her people to accept them as her heirs.

Only the eldest, Anaruz, survived that day. And only because he stopped on the way back from his own training to watch her slowly improving attempts at swordwork under Methos tutelage. So he'd arrived late for supper alongside Felcitas and Methos. Where they'd found Eligius, Izebboudgen and Didas dying or dead. All the food tasters, like the children, were already dead by then. Only Eligius was still drawing gasping, painful breaths for those few moments he'd held on to say farewell.

No. Forgiveness would never come for the witch who'd murdered them. Even for Methos it hadn't come easily. It _was_ , however, necessary; she'd needed his friendship then more than ever. And he wasn't the one that'd poisoned her family then fled into the night.

Instead, the poison Methos mixed was at her request. For the final funeral. Eligius' funeral... and her own.

The whispers had already started then, without her great protector there to quell them. How natural, how trustworthy, was her godliness when it led to her husband—the mightiest of warriors—die in so despicable a way? Such rumors would only grow the longer she lingered—their spread spurned on by her rivals and enemies alike—ultimately hurting her son's reign.

She had to step down as queen, leaving her crown to her only remaining child, who was then old enough to be called a man, at least in those ancient times. The throne, a carefully selected council to guide him, and the mythos that her very public sacrifice would rekindle—that of a glorious queen selflessly dying for her people and her love—was all Felicitas could leave Anaruz.

He would've preferred she stayed. Perhaps forever. A part of her would've preferred that, too. But more Immortals would come as word of her warrior husband's demise made them think they could seek her head.

So she drank the poison that'd make her sleep even while her flesh burnt. Then she set Eligius' funeral pyre alight and, as the whole city watched, laid down next to him to die. A fitting end for the daughter of Dido.

Methos would remove her scorched corpse from the ashes before the many mourners could see her come back from the dead. Again.

 _ **End of Prologue:**_ _ **Death**_ _ **.**_

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 _...NEXT:_ **Trust** **.**

 _Because very relationship has to start somewhere..._

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 **Originally posted on 6/5/2015.**

 **REVISED: 9/18/2015. Just over 1,000 words added.**

 _Author's Revision Note: Only a few changes in this one. The biggest one is the city's name. It's still Carthage, but that's what we call it in English, rooted in the Latin name: 'Carthago,' which was what the Romans called it. That wouldn't be what the ruler of the Phoenician city would know it as, not back then. She'll still call it Carthage going forward, at least some times, because for most of the series she'll be in modern times, speaking English. It makes sense to me that if she changes her names for each lifetime, as Methos taught her, and learns the languages of others along the way (that's mostly what Methos did, so that's what she'd do, too), that she'd use the names in that language also. So, per further research: "The city (in modern-day Tunisia, North Africa) was originally known as_ _ **Kart-Hadasht (new city)**_ _to distinguish it from the older Phoenician city of Utica nearby. The Greeks called it_ _ **Karchedon**_ _, and the Romans turned this name into_ _ **Carthago**_ _..."_ (Source credit to: Joshua J. Mark, "Carthage," _Ancient History Encyclopedia_ , last modified April 28, 2011,  .eu/carthage/.)

 _Thanks to that same source, I do know that factually my timelines a bit screwed up, but I don't want to change it, so I'm claiming writers license there._

 _I tend to do a lot of research for my writing, and when I find what I consider mistakes too big to ignore, I have to change them. Like I said, it's not a big thing here, but it's thematic enough to matter to me. Ergo, the biggest change. Other than a little more background being added on._

 _The rest was just a few added/altered lines to make it flow better and sound a little more like some of the later stories. Let me know what you think! And if I missed anything in my revising please, please, please let me know!_

 _Thanks in advance! :-)_

 _~ Jess S_

 _P.S: A thousand thanks to everyone has commented:_ _ **Lademonessa**_ _,_ _ **AerynSun75**_ _,_ _ **sparkysmomma09**_ _, & __**Faith-Kiamn**_ _. And thanks to everyone who has kudo'd, too. Hope you like the rest of the series, too! :-D_


	2. Chapter 1: Trust

**Originally posted on 6/5/2015. REVISED: 9/20/2015.**

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 **Felicitas** **by Jess S**.

 _ **Chapter 1: Trust**_.

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

 _February 2014. - STARLING CITY._

Felicity knew there was a good chance this was a bad idea. Even a very bad idea. But after over a month of searching through what clues she could find by herself, she was at wit's end.

She _had_ found plenty. The Queen Family history was so openly available to the public that it wasn't hard stringing bits and pieces together. And what little wasn't public knowledge, Felicity could hack her way into with relative ease. There was still a lot to go through though, especially when she couldn't be entirely sure about what she was looking for. Ruling out information as irrelevant was hard to do when you didn't quite know what would make it relevant.

Like whatever had been in that warehouse that'd scared Walter Steele so much months ago. It was empty now. Completely cleaned out—the security system wasn't even in place anymore. Though the cameras that'd been outside would've only hinted at who'd been there when, that knowledge might've still been useful. As would knowing who'd accessed it and ordered the clean up sometime after Walter had seen whatever was there.

But Felicity hadn't looked in time.

That was why she couldn't stop now. Not when what'd happened to the kindly Englishman was her fault.

Felicity should have talked him out of his curiosity as soon as he'd told her Josiah Hudson's car crash might have not been an accident. Might have had something to do with the scary contents of that warehouse.

All her time in this world had taught her many wonderful things, but it'd taught her some truly terrible truths, too. One of them being that people _kept_ killing for secrets worth killing over.

And mortals like Walter Steele were all too easy to kill. He may very well be months dead already.

Still she _had_ to _try_ to help him.

Felicity had known, even when Walter had tried to warn _her_ off for her own good—twice—that he wouldn't stop looking. That was why she'd stayed involved. If only to try to save a good man from the bad world he was delving deeper and deeper into. But she should have tried to stop him. Mysteries might incite her curiosity, but she'd learned long ago to let them rest if solving them meant more misery and death. Maybe she wouldn't have been able to talk him out of his investigation, but she should have at least tried.

But she hadn't tried hard enough.

Hadn't tried to talk him out of it.

Hadn't found any of the things that might've made Walter more cautious.

Methos would chide her for it. For all of this. He'd point out that the man was her boss; her boss's boss, actually; not someone she even worked close with. She'd only met with him a few times for his 'special project,' and only seen him a few times for that as it was. That hardly made him her friend. And mortals died. They always died. Even the good ones—especially the good ones, Methos would say.

But even though Felicity was now older than he'd been when they first met—only half his age, but an ancient in her own right for over a millennium now—the idea of just _accepting_ that bad things happened didn't sit well with her.

There was only so much she could do with what she had though; and so much more that she couldn't.

But maybe the Hood could. Could figure out what Moira Queen was hiding—what secrets were so dark that they were worth killing her husband over. And, if the Queen matriarch wasn't that vindictive, maybe he could even save Walter.

Especially since he already seemed to have _something_ against the people on the list of names Walter had found; since all of the Hood's targets had been listed therein.

Well, almost all; the 'Royal Flush Gang' were an aberration, just like Count Vertigo was. But those aberrations made sense if you knew who the vigilante was. That he was Moira Queen's son.

It wasn't a massive leap to make if you were used to reading people, used to putting what you knew about them together to figure them out. Add the _incredibly_ bad lies he'd tried on her, with things that so easily traced back to Starling's vigilante, and each one only confirmed her suspicions.

Not that Felicity was going to tell Oliver Queen that. In the unlikely event that she was reading him wrong, she didn't want an arrow with her name on it. Getting shot wouldn't kill her—permanently—but it _hurt_ like hell, however briefly the injury existed.

The cheerful waive the billionaire vigilante gave her when he spotted her coming through the diner's window made Felicity feel a little more sure that he wasn't going to don his Hood to shoot an arrow at her after this. At least sure enough to take those last few steps out of the rain and on over to the counter space he'd claimed. Though she couldn't quite keep her nervousness out of her voice as she came to a stop more than an arm's length away from his barstool. "Hi."

Felicity was trained to fight. Methos had insisted on that, and after some vicious arguments her first husband had even reluctantly agreed with him. But, though she couldn't say 'no' to the both of them, she didn't _like_ violence. Back then, she saw it for the necessary evil it was, and personally avoided it as much as she could otherwise. Time and certain circumstances made her become more circumspect. Avoiding the Game entirely was impossible if you didn't want to live on holy ground forever. Thought that just made the idea of fighting—let alone hurting or killing—mortals seem all the more _wrong_ to her. But not wrong enough to not still trust some of those that were capable of killing; not all of them. After all, she had killed herself. More than once. And not all of _them_ were Immortals who insisted on living and dying by the sword in The Game.

"Hi," Oliver nodded back to her, the calm lack of expectation on his face really making her wonder what'd changed the billionaire playboy into the mask for who he was now.

Because five years alone on an island couldn't be it. Especially since being stuck on a deserted island did not make most people master warriors. Survivalists, maybe, but not warriors. And other than slugging a paparazzo once and a few drunken brawls, Oliver Queen didn't have any history of bloodshed before the Queen's Gambit sank. The non-war-torn areas of this timeframe didn't force violence on most, outside of crime and disasters of other sorts. And even most of those violent places could be rendered relatively safe these days, if you could afford the manpower along with the rose-colored lenses.

"Thanks for meeting me," Felicity murmured softly, not bothering to control the nervous impulse that made her hands fidget as she stood before him. She could control it, if that was the persona she'd chosen for this lifetime, but it wasn't.

This 'life' was supposed to be as uneventful as the last few she'd chosen for herself had been, but it seemed the Fate's mercy had finally expired. Decades after the tragic end her last really 'eventful life' had come to. Her conscience couldn't let her fight it though, or flee from it like Methos would try to prescribe.

"I was... nervous, to come to your house," she admitted.

"O-kay..." Oliver chuckled, a little bit of the amusement that always seemed to dawn in his eyes when she babbled lighting his expression even as he kept watching her.

That look—that almost-smile that was becoming familiar—made her feel a little safer doing this even as some of the warmth quickly dimmed just a little as he studied her too intently, too seriously, for the carefree playboy he was pretending to still be.

The clear duplicity might have made Felicity more nervous again if she wasn't expecting it. But she didn't come lugging a computer or anything else because she'd already sent him from the spectroanalysis results that'd led to the Hood finding Count Vertigo before the S.C.P.D.

Something she didn't even feel bad about, because her only hesitation then had been whether or not giving him his target was a good idea when he'd been looking like he might drop dead when he'd brought his most recent request to her. He looked more like he was on the mend now, almost a whole day later.

And the drug-maker's blood money could've undoubtedly bought the Count a good enough lawyer to keep him off death row. Then bought him an escape from Starling City's less than pristine prison, too, even if the lawyer wasn't skilled to free him legally. There were many things she admired about the country she now claimed citizenship too: but the laws that protected the rights of a murderous madman more effectively than all of the people he'd killed were hard for her to swallow.

And the self-proclaimed 'Count Vertigo' was a mass-murdering madman. After all, based on the information that a 'trustworthy C.I' had been able to buy from the Russian Mob—according to the S.C.P.D's own files—the mad scientist actually attributed his self-chosen name not to the title 'Count,' but to the _count_ of _how_ _many_ _people_ his creation _had_ _killed_. Even though that C.I almost had to be Oliver Queen, Felicity didn't have any more reason to doubt its veracity than the police did. _That_ kind of madness was best handled one way. Whether it was vengeance—for his little sister's poor choices almost killing her—that'd gotten the vigilante involved in the first place or not.

It was possible immortality had given Felicity a unique perspective on such things quite outside modern society's acceptance or understanding. But that was why she'd accepted Oliver's horrible cover for why the 'sports drink' was in a syringe that looked like a weapon. And why she'd ultimately been able to send the results she'd managed down in the Q.C labs on to him. Results that she would've had to ask an actual lab employee for if she didn't know how to hack her way into the lab after hours and use a mass spectrometer herself—something he probably wouldn't ask about so she hadn't bothered to come up with a story for how she'd done it.

"Felicity?" Oliver's voice broke into her thoughts, and when she blinked at him some of that seriousness had given way to concern in the gaze that was still studying her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she said automatically, then immediately shook her head. "I-I mean, no. Not really. I don't know." The babbling tongue she'd never really had to control in Starling City apparently wasn't up to not going wild while her nerves were wired. But she couldn't kick herself for not reigning it in, not when it made the handsome man soften again.

"Here," Oliver started to stand, but stopped almost as soon as he'd started when she moved slightly back—not quite a flinch, but enough for the perceptive man to notice. So he shifted back into his seat and pushed the stool beside him out and closer to her instead. "Have a seat." He watched her do so, then asked, "Can I get you something? Water?"

"No," Felicity shook her head firmly. "Thank you."

"Okay." His careful, calm agreement was very deliberate.

It dawned on her only then that he would've come here expecting one of two things.

The worst one, in his mind, probably being that she'd figured out he was 'The Hood.' Because even he had to know his lies _sucked_ , and that anyone who paid attention to the news should be able to see some connections between what he'd brought to her and the vigilante's activities. How nervous she was acting right now would only make that seem more likely, so Felicity supposed she should be glad he was inclined to be so patient and accommodating. It didn't mean he hadn't helped his mother get rid of her second husband, but along with the gentle warmth he tended to treat her with, it was reassuring.

The second, probably preferable but less likely option he might be expecting was the confession of a crush he could let her down gently from... or not, if he thought letting her down not so gently might make her less inclined to think of him as anything other than the filthy-rich playboy he wasn't anymore. Not that his courteous behavior suggest that was likely. Especially when she hadn't really tried to hide the fact that she found him attractive—before or after she realized he went around shooting arrows at people long after the bow was still considered a modern weapon of war.

That first time it'd just been mild shock at seeing him standing there wanting to talk to her and looking even more gorgeous than the photographs that didn't do him any justice at all. After that, though, she'd mostly just wanted to see him smile again... Which, come to think of it, might have a lot to do with why she was bouncing between self-preserving hesitance and hating that she hadn't tried to tell him sooner, before that brief meeting during his quest to avenge his sister had made her more sure that he wasn't heartless.

"Did something happen at Q.C?" Oliver asked her in that same gentle tone that made it sound like he could sit waiting all night. Some of his activities as a vigilante had probably required waiting like that, but that didn't make this any easier.

"No..." Felicity said again, trying to reign in her thoughts.

She'd thought she had earlier, but apparently she should've put more effort into getting ready for this mentally. Meditated. Practiced katas. Something.

Because the thoughts going through her head weren't calm or calming. Not when she was realizing that if he wasn't involved somehow, this was going to be an unpleasant surprise. Especially if he was only expecting her to confront him about her 'crush' or admit she knew he shot arrows at bad people.

Felicity took a deep breath to try and temper it back.

It helped, a little, that he ran around shooting arrows at people rather than attacking them with swords. What didn't help were her memories of when she'd been shot with arrows before. Fond memories they were _not_.

And if she was misjudging him—if he was killing and punishing people on his mother's list to cover something up, if he'd had a hand in whatever had happened to his step-father—an arrow could be the end to her life here in Starling City. She didn't really think so. But she'd been wrong before.

Felicity swallowed the swell of panic that almost tasted like smoke and forced herself to start talking. "The thing is, I've been debating whether or not to share this with you for weeks." She made herself look, watching him lower his head in a gesture of concentration, then softly asked. "Can I trust you?"

Oliver's chin immediately jerked up as his brow furrowed in consternation, and confusion that looked almost real. Would look real, to someone who hadn't been putting people puzzles together in their head for thousands of years before he was born.

"I'm _not_ an idiot," Felicity scoffed, shaking her head. "You've dropped some fairly _ridiculous_ lies on me... and yet I still feel like I can trust you," she chuckled wryly, looking down at her hands. "Why is that?"

As good as she was at reading people, there were times that Felicity didn't understand her own mind. Or maybe it was her 'gut,' as they seemed to say nowadays. How sometimes she'd be inclined to trust someone she probably shouldn't, for no reason she _knew_ , and other times inclined to not trust someone she should. But she'd learned a long time ago to trust those instincts; they'd led to some pretty amazing relationships over time, and saved her neck more than a few times, too. Every time she'd been wise enough to listen and trust them.

"I have one of those faces," Oliver replied with an easy grin, only to back-peddle instantly at the disapproval she didn't try to hide, proving that he, too, could read people well. At least well enough to know he had to be serious now. "Sorry. Yes," he nodded soberly. "You can trust me."

It doubtlessly shouldn't have been enough for her. Not when she was going to essentially tell him that his mother almost certainly had something to do with his stepfather's kidnapping—and maybe his death. But it was enough.

If Methos wasn't still walking around, just like her, he'd be turning over in his grave. Nonstop.

"Then I have something to show you," Felicity finally opened her knapsack to pull the peril-packed little book out, not missing how the sight of it made the vigilante freeze for a second in her peripheral vision.

Oliver was looking back up, meeting her gaze by the time she did, but he was stiffer now. She _had_ surprised him. With something he _recognized_ _on sight_. Confirmation she didn't really need—and she still needed to know if it was something he might kill her for.

Felicity held the book out to him, and let him take it, watching him for several long moments as he opened it and started flipping through the pages, his mouth a firmly unhappy line. "Have you ever seen this before?" she asked; voice her most gently soothing.

"...No," Oliver lied, slowly shaking his head as he looked down at it, still too tense to be telling the truth as he kept looking through the little book.

She'd know that even if she hadn't figured out that he was the Hood and noticed that the Hood seemed to be targeting the people on this list or another like it.

"Where'd you get it?" Oliver asked her after hesitating just a little too long, still looking through the long list of names—some powerful, some negligible. And apparently deciding to skip the question of what the long list of names was.

Something he shouldn't do if he wanted to pretend he didn't already know; just like he should've brought the Vertigo to her in a bottle or a test tube yesterday. But she wasn't going to bring his attention to his poor lying skills now.

"From your stepfather," Felicity replied evenly, voice still soft, but meeting his gaze as that made him look up at her again.

"From Walter." Oliver swallowed, then nodded, looking back at the names again. "Um... Well," he looked up, locking gazes with her again as he asked, "Where did he get it?"

"He said he found it in your house," Felicity answered gently, because this would come as a blow to him. No matter why this list of names had become bulls-eyes for him, she now knew that he _didn't_ know his mother was somehow involved in whatever this was. "That it belongs to your mother."

The billionaire met her gaze again then, looking a little lost. That look wasn't acting at all: it was the little boy who'd just found out his mother wasn't an angel who could do no wrong, and that realization momentarily made the whole world seem dark and cold.

"Walter thought she was hiding something." Felicity shook her head. "Something... _more_. And he wanted me to look into it... But then he vanished." She wasn't surprised when he looked away, his thoughts probably whirring a million miles a minute as she finished. "I think this list might have cost Walter his life."

XXX.

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V._

As much as Felicity Smoak's surprise had shocked him, John Diggle's reaction to that same surprise didn't.

"So this book contains a list of the names of the guys you've been hunting." Diggle summarized as he held the book Oliver's father had given him up, then switched to the new book. "And this book, your mother's, has the same list of names."

"It's identical," Oliver confirmed flatly as he accepted both books back.

Though that wasn't exactly true. The pages that were missing from Oliver's hadn't been torn from the one that supposedly belonged to his mother. And this other book hadn't had to weather the island, or maybe anything at all. Given it's like-new appearance, it seemed very likely that wherever Walter had found it stored had kept it very well preserved.

"So where'd your mother get her copy, Oliver?" Diggle demanded. "For that matter, who gave it to you?"

"Felicity Smoak," Oliver answered evenly. "She said that Walter found it in their bedroom."

And Oliver did _not_ like that.

That Walter had been that specific with this girl that should've been safe from whatever was going on. From whatever it was his father wanted him to stop. Because it was becoming more and more obvious that he was supposed to _stop_ _something_ , not just fix every wrong with an arrow.

Regardless, that law-abiding girl with a steady, safe job that provided a good enough salary for her to live in a safe neighborhood; she should've been safe. Safely lower middle class, and therefore away from all the turmoil the corrupt elite of Starling City had inflicted—and still were inflicting—on the already impoverished. Why had Walter brought her into all of this?

But then, Oliver couldn't really ask that, could he? Not when he'd gone back to Felicity Smoak more than once himself. Because she was one of those rare people his tortured gut knew he could both trust and rely on for her very obvious skill-set.

"And now he's missing," Diggle stated the obvious, forcing Oliver to focus on the real problem here.

On the fact that the next person the Hood should be visiting was someone Oliver never wanted to see as the vigilante, let alone point an arrow at.

"She's my _mother_ , Diggle. She's not the kind of person who would—"

"Have her husband disappeared?" the ex-soldier cut him off firmly, his serious gaze locked with Oliver's. "Because that's really the question, isn't it, Oliver?" He shook his head as he crossed his arms. "I understand why you would believe your mother over your stepfather, but I tend to believe the innocent party is whoever's missing—and presumed dead."

Oliver hated the fact with every fiber of his being, but he did know his friend was right.

Just like he knew that Felicity would keep digging if he didn't. That she cared that much—too much. Even though she'd only worked with Walter on this dangerous 'special project' for a short time. He'd made enough of an impression to merit not letting go, not giving up on him. Or Felicity Smoak was just too kindhearted to give up, even if it could get her killed.

Oliver sighed, "I'll talk to her."

"As the Hood?" Diggle asked the question, but his tone told Oliver he expected the answer he got.

"As _her son_."

* * *

 _End of_ _ **Trust**_.

* * *

 **NEXT:** **Sudden Life Changes**.

 _Because bullets and blood build bonds...and traumatic memories._

* * *

 **Originally posted on 6/5/2015.**

 **REVISED: 9/20/2015.**

 _Author's Revision Note: Not too many changes in this one. Just under 1.5 K more words. For AO3 I'm splitting the two scenes into separate chapters. True, the second scene is rather short, but it is its own scene, a different P.O.V, etc. I added a little more background and thinking on Felicity's part, a little more interaction too, but nothing major._

 _Original End Note: Well, that brings us into Season 1 Arrow!_

 _I am going to be making a concerted effort to keep Felicity as in-character as possible, but I also won't be following every scene word-for-word all the way through. If you want that, go watch the show again. I will, however, be going through some of the scenes, especially so in the first season because I actually don't plan on Felicity's big reveal... well, for a while yet. Because I don't think Felicity would just come out and tell anyone about her Immortality. Certainly not when she had Methos as her mentor! I considered making Chapter 1 start when Team Arrow found out, I even started writing it that way, but that involved skipping over a lot of great scenes, so it didn't happen._

 _Also, while I think the chemistry alone between the actors made OLICITY canon even in Season 1, I will be changing some things to make it even more so. If you don't like OLICITY... well, you might still like this, I guess. It's up to you; just keep in mind that Felicity is the main character here, and the pairing IS listed in the summary._

 _Bye for now!_

 _ **~ Jess S**_


	3. Chapter 2: Sudden Life Changes

**Originally posted on 6/8/2015. REVISED: 9/26/2015.**

* * *

 **Felicitas** **by Jess S**.

 _ **Chapter 2: Sudden Life Changes**_.

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

Felicity didn't bother disguising the fact that she was hurrying to her car; she had an obvious reason to hurry.

It was late; too late to still be working unless you were paid a lot more than she was or it was some kind of emergency. Or your so-called supervisor was starting to let his inferiority complex show again, since the 'interim' C.E.O hadn't shown any interest in following up on her missing husband's planned promotion for Felicity, and Oliver Queen favoring her for his odd projects hadn't led to any particular preferential treatment.

Felicity tried to shrug her annoyance at the situation off as she reached into her coat pocket for the her key fob. It wasn't easy.

The unfairness of it all especially.

Because Oliver Queen wasn't just a very bad liar—so bad some of the time that she had to wonder if he was even really trying. More than that, though; he was the young, famous, and ridiculously handsome heir apparent. And he knew how to use all of that to his advantage when he wanted to, but the rest of the time it didn't seem to be even an afterthought. Maybe everyone noticing him all the time wasn't all that important to Oliver himself—though one would think it should be, considering the less than legal secret he was keeping—but maybe he was just too used to it to care.

Never mind that always coming to Felicity, no matter how flattering, was a trigger for gossip that was much less gratifying. That that kind of gossip, each time it was rekindled by a revisit or just someone feeling jealous, led to more of the looks she didn't like. Not because she couldn't defend herself if some stupid bastard ever acted on the impulse behind some of those unwanted looks. No, she'd almost prefer that. At least then some of her stress could be directed to painting bruises and breaking bones belonging to someone who deserved it. The passive-aggressive, jealous cattiness and snooty superiority really shouldn't be what she was the most perturbed about, but there it was; making her miss the Amazon nation, where squabbles were quickly decided in sparring contests.

Inspired all over again by the fact that her wait for Oliver's real reaction to what she'd told him about his stepfather seemed to be over. And while it'd taken him a few days to get around to it, if the revelation she'd hit him with was as much of surprise as she'd thought, then it was also a very unpleasant one. Still, his reaction had come: in the form of The Hood had attacked Missus Queen. Though she was pretty sure 'attacked' was a strong word, since she couldn't imagine that Oliver Queen would ever actually _attack his mother_. Even with the bombshell she'd dropped on him in mind. Whether he had or not though was neither here nor there, since security wanted all employees out of the building.

The cops probably wouldn't be pleased about that; since they'd want to take statements—like 'oh yeah! I saw this guy repelling down the side of the building' or 'he went that way!' But security said 'go home, you're done for the night.' So she was hurrying to her car, hours after she should've gone home anyway, but a few hours before she probably would have if Mike—one of the nice night guards who knew she worked too many hours as it was—hadn't called her before lockdown the police would probably call for started with their siren heralded S.C.P.D weren't here yet though; the sirens sounded surprisingly still pretty far away.

The cute little 'chirp' her mini-cooper made when she unlocked it made her smile; she liked little things like that. Itty bitty things that were meant to amuse. They made the world just that little bit better to live in, if only by breaking up the conundrum of the day-to-day.

But the inside of her car normally didn't smell like blood, so that scent had her freezing just as she shut the door. Her hand automatically flew to the handle of the tazer she kept in her coat pocket as she heard a groan from the backseat.

A tazer wouldn't slow another Immortal down for long, but it'd give her time to either get to her sword (any one of them) or get away. And it was a hell of a lot easier to hide than a sword, especially with the modern days rather revealing, form fitting fashions.

Though it couldn't be an Immortal here, she'd have sensed them from at least outside of her car. Even if they knew how to rein in their Quickening like she did: _no one_ could reign it in enough to not be sensed when you were right next to them. Her best was about a dozen feet for total dampening, though she usually didn't bother doing anymore than dimming it so that her actual power level didn't act as a beacon for trouble. Too much effort most of the time.

A pained groan became a familiar voice saying, "I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity." Though each word was agonized and breathless, nearly rendering the voice of the vigilante unrecognizable even when she already knew who he was.

Felicity forced the expected question as she spun around to look at the green (and hood) clad man that'd been hiding in her backseat. "How-How do you know my name?" she asked, hoping her face still looked more worried than relieved.

She _really_ hoped Methos never found out about this—it wouldn't matter that she'd sense another Immortal coming from too far off for them to surprise her like this, he'd point out that some Immortals did employ mortals. She did once, after all; though only as guards. Never mind what her 'big brother' would probably say if he realized she was attracted to the now badly bleeding man.

"Because," the vigilante breathed out roughly. "You know my name," he told her, then he tugged back his hood.

Revealing the handsome face she was expecting to see, now only slightly hidden by the grease-paint his evidently smeared around his eyes to make the hood's shadow entirely effective in concealing his identity. Or at least as effective as it ever could be; if anyone ever yanked that Hood back or what have you, it wouldn't do much concealing at all.

"Oliver, oh...oh, wow. Ev-Everything about you just became so unbelievably clear." Felicity didn't really have to force the stammer. Not when the man who was hiding from the cops that'd be here soon was also bleeding all over her backseat.

It'd been centuries since she'd worked professionally in any medical capacity and the stench of bloom permeating the air, along with the surprise of finding anyone in the backseat of her supposedly securely locked car, had adrenaline zapping ever nerve in her body. Once women with that kind of knowledge and life choice had a tendency to end up burning at the stake, or beheaded if the locals felt merciful, so from the Dark Ages onward it just hadn't seemed like the wisest of callings. But Oliver's whole upper body was saturated by blood, which had to becoming from a pretty bad wound.

"You're bleeding..."

That earned her an incredulous look. "I don't need to be told that."

"You need a hospital," Felicity corrected herself as she turned back around, slamming her car key into the ignition, even though she knew he'd shoot that down, too.

Better to get going before there were enough cops outside to actually enforce the lockdown that security should have started but didn't. Somehow she doubted they vigilante would react well to being banished to her trunk. If he could even move himself right now.

"My-My father's old factory, in the Glades," Oliver insisted, still breathing very harshly; each deep breath almost a gasp. His eyes drooping with the exhaustion as she glanced back again.

That told her he'd been hiding in her car, blood spilling out of him and onto the seats, for an unhealthily long time. Not that any time spent losing lots of blood was ever a good thing for a mortal. Or an Immortal, depending on the circumstances.

"No," Felicity immediately objected, the easiest response rolling off her tongue, even as she backed up then started for the exit. "You need a doctor. Not a steelworker."

She knew that taking him to the hospital would end up with him being accused of being the Hood, again at the very least. Even if they (meaning Felicity) tried to change his clothing and what have you... So she really, really hoped he had some sort of medical facility at the Foundry that'd soon become a nightclub that she was quickly planning the fastest way to.

She didn't need to ask where it was. She already knew. It was one of the places that made sense for him to setup at least a temporary hideout for the Hood. She'd figured that out early on, and it'd only been confirmed as a near certainty by the news that Oliver Queen intended to open up a new club in that very same spot. She looked both ways before turning out of the parking garage and started driving away from all the flashing lights.

"Felicity..." he said her name so seriously she was almost glad the first light she came to was red (it always was because it was one of the shortest lights in the city). She looked back at him in the rearview mirror, worriedly impressed when the drained man somehow managed to hold her gaze, even though it probably took every bit of stubborn strength he had left. "You have to promise me... that you are going to take me to my father's factory... and nowhere else."

"...Yeah, promise," Felicity gave in then, not wanting to waste important time arguing when he probably wouldn't remember this that well anyway. Not when wasting energy wasn't something the wounded warrior should be doing right now.

Oliver sagged back down into the seat, his breathing ragged and harsh, as she turned left as soon as the green arrow appeared, the familiar motion jerky with nerves.

"Something tells me blood stains are not covered under my lease," the Immortal sighed, driving carefully just below the speed limit on the off-chance that some of the speed traps on this stretch of road hadn't been abandoned for the race to Q.C.

"I'm good for it," Oliver surprised her with the cocky mutter that was befitting of a billionaire—even one that was bleeding to death in the backseat.

" _You_ just stay awake," Felicity told him firmly. Then grimaced. "How do I get into your secret lair, anyway?"

Because he had to have a security system, and while she could probably hack it, she'd rather not waste the time.

"And there's gonna be help there, right?"

"Ye-Yeah," Oliver choked out the affirmation.

Felicity risked another glance back as she came to another red light, not surprised to find an expression of fierce concentration on his face. "You-You're keeping pressure on—"

"I've got it... Felicity," the vigilante cut her off, his voice a little too out of breath to be called demanding. "Just... get me to the factory... Please."

"Were you shot in the chest or shoulder?" she asked, speeding up slightly to get through the next yellow light, breathing a sigh of relief when no lights or sirens started nearby. She was trying to save someone's life here, that _should_ count for a lot—but all a police officer would see is that the guy she's trying to save is obviously the vigilante and obviously Oliver Queen. Which would be _bad_.

And could mean exposing her not-quite-normal talents to Oliver, and she didn't really know him well enough to think exposing the existence of Immortals to him would be a good thing. And, unfortunately, with her luck he wouldn't let her using 'The Force' on a cop go as a weird, blood-loss induced dream or something similar. While she didn't know him _well_ , Felicity did recognize Oliver Queen per type enough to know his mind would not be easily influenced, even by a multi-millennia-old Quickening. Ironically, he wouldn't be ' _her_ type,' as Methos dubbed them, if he was.

"Lower shoulder," the man sighed heavily. "Near my neck."

Felicity grimaced, sending up a quick prayer to whoever listened that the bullet had at least managed to miss everything vital around there.

The amount of blood on her backseat made that seem unlikely, but he'd managed to get down from the top floor of Q.C to her car in the parking garage without leaving a trail of blood, and he was now still conscious—though that might not be the case for much longer—so happy thoughts weren't necessarily a bad thing.

"Who's—oh, is Mister—"

"Digg's at... basement," he cut in again to confirm, his deep breaths even more labored as he kept his eyes open by sheer willpower. "Yeah. He'll... know what... to do."

She would've liked to hope that 'knowing what to do' might involve calling a doctor that, for some reason or another, would never reveal that the Vigilante and Oliver Queen were one and the same. But remembering, 'I ran out of sports bottles,' she doubted it. A lot.

"Is the door open?"

"'Roun' back... of club. South alley... Code's... 1, 4... 1..." he barely got the last number out before he finally passed out. Hopefully his security code really was just three digits long. Otherwise she'd have to settle for banging on the door, and anywhere in the Glades it wasn't a great idea to attract any attention to yourself, whether you had the infamous vigilante passed out and bleeding to death in your backseat or not.

Felicity glanced back at him again with another worried frown, but then forced her eyes forward again as she pressed down harder on the gas as soon as they cleared the downtown area.

It was only a few minutes later that she was driving around the old Q.C factory, looking for the door. It wasn't the longest few minutes of her life—she'd been around a very long time—but the tense minutes of listening to make sure he was still breathing would likely still haunt her.

She came to a rubber squealing stop by what had to be the right door—it was about a third of the way the south side of the building, like he'd said; down an alley that was just wide enough for one vehicle to drive down. And it had a keypad, which meant the security system with its short password. The car was in park and off as she leapt out, the keys being tucked into her coat pocket with one hand while she opened the back door with the other and looked anxiously at the unconscious man.

Felicity tugged at his collar to expose the blood-soaked, makeshift bandaged he'd been bandaging the bullet-wound with. The immediate surge of fresh blood that wet her fingertips at that made her press it down more firmly, even though it was drenched through. Then she yanked at the sleeve of her jacket till it tore off, folding the thick material up to bunch it between his jacket and the bandage he had in place—hoping the added pressure would help while she found the man who pretended to be his bodyguard.

Then she stepped back, slamming the car door back in place and running for the building. She'd been in situations like this before, too many times for her to bother trying to move Oliver. There was no way _she_ could move _him_ by herself. Not while he was completely unconscious and unable to help at all. Amazingly fit though he was those muscles weren't weightless and calling on her Quickening for strength in situations like this was rarely a good idea. Especially when she may soon need it anyway, and there should be help on hand for actually moving him. That was what John Diggle's muscles must be for.

1-4-1 unlocked the door, as promised, and she wasn't surprised to hear the familiar voice of a local newsman talking about the attack as she hurried down the stairs.

" _—attacked Missus Queen in her office earlier tonight. She was unharmed in the assault._ "

She was too worried about whether Oliver wouldn't wake up again if his heart stopped from blood loss to focus on making sure her feet made noise like a 'normal' person's probably would. Which was likely why she scared the living daylights out of John Diggle when she said, "Excuse me?"

But, hey, at least Diggle only _pointed_ his gun at her—he didn't _shoot_ her. And even if he had, she'd get better fast, so Felicity wasn't inclined to hold it against him as she met his wide-eyed gaze.

"Can-Can you help me?" she requested, meeting his wide-eyed gaze steadily. "He's _really_ heavy!"

The ex-soldier stared at her for a long second, then the realization dawned, and he was putting his gun away and bolting up the stairs she'd just come down.

* * *

XXX.

 _John Diggle's P.O.V._

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

John wasn't really listening to the heart monitor as he stitched up Oliver's latest wound, it was more of a reassuring background noise that he was aware of; because it meant that, with the wound now stitched up and a lot of the blood he'd lost at least partially replaced, the man on the table should soon be on the mend.

"Good job," Felicity complimented him as he pulled the last stitch through, sounding so much like a proud parent for a second that he glanced at her just in time to see her face twist as she set her tools down on the table next to the bullet he'd extracted and all the other bits of bloody gauze. "...I think."

The odd look made him wonder what'd caused it. Her recognition of her tone? The fact that she'd just assisted in sewing up a gunshot wound? Or everything just hitting her as the adrenaline started to wear off?

Nonetheless, John nodded. "His heart rate's elevated," he indicated the monitor's too-fast beat with a jerk of his chin as he set the tools down. "But at least the bleeding's stopped." He turned back to her as he took off his gloves, watching her do the same even as she looked up to meet his eyes. "Thanks for your help. You kept your head on."

Looking back on it, actually, the tech-girl's seemingly clearheaded control was more than a little impressive. It was the kind of thing that could be instilled into soldiers, agents, operatives, and everyone else who needed to be trained to work in decidedly dangerous, high-adrenaline situations. But it wasn't the sort of thing she should've learned at M.I.T, so that made her one of the very, very rare people that such discipline came to naturally. Though it also meant he'd have to keep an eye on her for when she eventually broke, whether it was from shock or if the adrenaline crash that hit her first.

The I.T girl shrugged, looking much more self-conscious now that the man that'd sort of brought them both here wasn't necessarily going to die any second now. "Well, I always wondered how I'd react if I found my boss shot and bleeding inside my car." Then she frowned, shaking her head. "Not that I helped because he's my boss. I'd help _anyone_ who was shot and bleeding in my car."

John couldn't help but smirk slightly in amusement at her babbling, though he was surprised all anew by the pure altruism of her character.

Most people, most civilians, if they found someone badly hurt would help by calling an ambulance, maybe taking them to the hospital. Not let themselves be talked into playing both paramedic then surgical assistant. It was yet another instance that proved the vigilante's trust in her wasn't based on her pretty face and short skirts. Though Digg still thought attraction—and the smiles she managed to surprise out of Oliver—were a factor in why the younger man kept going back to her with weaker and weaker cover stories.

Diggle watched her look around for a moment, then asked, "I was thinking all of this would be more of a shock?" he indicated everything around them, and what it represented, with a general shrug.

The blonde folded her hands in front of her, smiling a little as she looked at one of the many displays of arrows in the room.

"What?" the ex-soldier asked her, grinning at everything the oft babbling girl was now saying with her silence. "Are you saying you called this all along?"

Given how bright the girl was—something that'd be obvious even if the profile Oliver had gotten from the Q.C employee database didn't list her I.Q test score as the highest in the entire I.T department, by a lot—it wasn't an impossibility.

"I'm not saying anything," the tech genius replied, but she was still smiling back at him as she continued. "Except... Oliver brought me a laptop riddled with bullet holes, had me trace a black arrow, and research a company involved in armored-car heists... I may be blonde, but I'm not _that_ blonde."

John nodded along, and all-out smirked as she finished. "Yeah," he agreed as he grabbed a towel to wipe his hands yet again. "Oliver's not too great with cover stories."

"Neither are you," Felicity chuckled, shaking her head. "The two of you with that whole 'energy drink hang-over cure?' _Please._ "

John had to snort slightly in agreement.

"What was really in that needle, anyway?" the tech asked curiously.

He glanced up at her before he answered, wanting to see her reaction. "Vertigo."

Except there wasn't really a reaction. Like she was expecting it. And that made John wonder just how close to the truth she'd gotten with the clues Oliver had unintentionally left her each time he called on her expertise.

"I knew it," Felicity nodded a moment later; just a bit too late. "I mean, I didn't _know_ it was Vertigo, for sure, but I definitely knew it wasn't something that could cure a hangover."

"Yeah, we needed it analyzed so we could take down The Count."

That, at least, got a blink out of her. And that told him that she'd done enough research to recognize the moniker in relation to the drug the madman sold.

When she didn't say anything in response, John added, "Without your help, Felicity, we never would have found him." He didn't mind telling her; giving credit where it was due.

The I.T girl blinked again, then shook her head. "But why come to me?" she asked softly.

Something about the way she asked that didn't ring quite right to him. It sounded more like there might be more reasons than her skill set for Oliver to have picked her. Even though John didn't think that was the case. Still, it seemed she thought there was more, too, than the chemistry so clear between them it almost made the older man want to revert back to high school solutions and lock them in a closet together till they worked it out. Not that that'd work—before Oliver had revealed he was the vigilante to Felicity, he would've played the bad boy card and just picked the lock, now he'd break down the door.

Maybe there was. Oliver hadn't admitted anything about this girl, even the fact that he trusted her was made obvious by the fact that he kept seeking her out rather than any actual answers to John's smirks or raised eyebrows.

Still the number of things Oliver knew about John's own past—his classified military past—made him wonder if the billionaire with his many connections of various repute knew something about her that he wasn't sharing. Or if Oliver could actually know anything beyond the unintentional innuendos that slipped into her babbles or her sky-scraping I.Q and bright smile. Because how much could a supposed background check into a computer genius turn up if she didn't want anything to show up? Between solider and archer, their skill sets didn't have much to do with keyboards. But hers did.

But John didn't say anything about that. Instead he focused on the positive answer. "Hard as it probably is for him to admit." He looked back at the man on the table. "Even Oliver needs help sometimes."

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V._

He'd been here before. More than once... It was never a good thing.

How had it this time?

Oliver strained to remember for only a second before it came back to him;

 _"Moira Queen... you have failed this city!"_

 _"Please don't kill me... I-I'm a mother. I have a son—Oliver. A daughter. Her name is Thea. She's just a teenager._ _ **Please**_ _don't take me from my children! They've lost their father. They_ _ **can't**_ _lose me, too... Please. Whoever you are,_ _ **please**_ _."_

 _BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

 _"...This is Moira Queen. I'm on the 39th floor, I need help... There's an intruder! Please!"_

His mother had shot him. But as much as that hurt, the terror on her face as she pleaded with him, begged him not to kill her, had hurt him more than a bullet ever could.

That bullet had done plenty of damage. He'd frozen when she pulled the gun on him, unable to make himself move till she'd already gotten two shots off —and that bullet had hit hard.

It was all he could do to make himself move and keep moving to get to one of the elevators careful to keep pressure on his wound. Going out the window as planned not an option when his arm could fail him thirty-nine floors up. He'd been making himself head for the nearest car for a little grand theft auto when he'd spotted Felicity coming out of the elevators not long after he himself had. It'd taken him only a moment to spot her car then—thankfully the quirky little vehicle was memorable. His strength already failing even his stubbornness, it'd been such a relief to see her that he hadn't even thought about what he was doing as he ducked cars and through the railing to the ramp she'd parked halfway up, making it there just as she rounded the corner and triggered the automatic unlock.

He'd regretted it almost immediately. After terrifying his own mother, the thought of scaring Felicity Smoak seemed apocalyptic. Filling each second he'd had to wait for her to reach her driver's seat with its own torturous doubts and fears.

 _"I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity."_

 _"How-How do you know my name?"_

 _Because... you know my name."_

 _"Ol-Oliver. Oh... Oh, wow. Ev-Everything about you just became so unbelievably clear."_

She should have run screaming. Should have bolted from the car as soon as she saw his green hood. Over his face or not.

Instead she'd agreed to help him?

 _"Felicity... You have to promise me... that you are going to take me to my father's factor... and nowhere else."_

 _"...Yeah. Promise."_

The ride after that was a blur.

Had he promised to buy her a car? Somehow that didn't quite fit with the worried looks she kept shooting over her shoulder and at the rearview mirror as he'd been fighting to breathe...

Suddenly, agony overwhelmed everything else. Every thought flew from his head as the panicked pain took over.

Everything hurt; everything was wrong.

Abrupt heat exploding through him might've made him scream if he knew where his mouth was, but it was hard to know anything at all.

The panic kept building along with the pain.

The abrupt heat shot through again—then everything seemed to stop.

And Oliver thought maybe he could breathe again, but every breath was an effort all its own. Exhaustion pulled at it him, but at least the pain had stopped and the panic was dulling, slowly seeping away with it.

He wanted to cringe away from the light at first—after the Island, the darkness felt more like a home as it was, never mind when he might be dying and had no desire to go towards that light.

But it was familiar somehow.

It was... Felicity?

Oliver couldn't say how he knew that. He couldn't say anything, actually; his mouth was still off somewhere he didn't know.

But that bright light wasn't frightening once he'd recognized it. Then it was going through him, like calm waves coming up on the beach.

Everything became right then.

Oliver didn't realize he was cold till he suddenly wasn't, with warmth washing through him.

The agony dulled to aching.

The exhaustion became fatigue.

And the panic was replaced with peace and that feeling of joy that always surprised him, that he only felt around her.

" _You are remarkable, Felicity._ "

 _"Thank you for remarking on it."_

Oliver smiled.

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

 _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!_

"What's happening?" Felicity forced herself to say as she reached the gurney just a step behind Diggle.

Even though she hadn't worked with much modern medicine professionally, she recognized what Oliver's body was doing. The convulsions jerking and jumping all of his limbs as his heart went out of control—fighting for life—were once a sign that that life would soon be over. At least without magical intervention.

And no matter what they got wrong in T.V shows the rapid sound was fairly distinctive. Almost as recognizable as the flat-lining sound that might follow it. A horrible clamor that only made it harder for her to not call her Quickening up for the sort of healing that wasn't magic by an strict practitioner's definition, but could still lead to a flaming stake in times only a few centuries past.

"There's a syringe labeled Ativan." Diggle told her, gesturing towards the medical cart he'd pulled the blood out of earlier even as he moved to hold Oliver's jerking body in place. "It should stop the seizure. Go."

 _BEEP-BEEP-BEE-EEE-EEE-EEP!_

"His heart stopped," the ex-soldier said unnecessarily.

Felicity hesitated for just a second, her own heart dropping as she stared at Oliver's bloody, still form. Then, as Diggle turned towards the medical cart again, she asked, "Shouldn't we call 9-1-1?"

"No. Wait! You can't!" the big man objected, hurrying back with what looked like a defibulator in hand.

Felicity winced as they took another step into modern medicine, having already decided that no matter what happened to her in this lifetime, however much longer it lasted, she was going into medicine for the next one. She didn't like being so far behind the times that stuff like this felt like they might as well be toys rather than tools. And it wasn't like witch burnings were likely anymore, so there wasn't really a reason to keep avoiding that profession in general. "You know how to use one of those?"

"We're about to find out," the pseudo-medic answered.

Felicity stumbled back from the medical gurney as he thrust the buzzing paddles towards Oliver's chest and abdomen. "You didn't say clear!" she protested, the startled words slipping out as she yanked herself back from Oliver and the metal table he was laying on even while she watched; desperately hoping it would work.

She wasn't the least bit ready for Oliver Queen to die—not that readiness was something the Fates ever really gave a damn about.

 _BEEP!_

Both of them frowned as nothing happened when the obviously not charged paddles made contact with Oliver's body, despite the beep that meant they were supposed to be sending electricity into him.

Then Felicity made the connection, and she was hurrying towards the machine. "I heard the charge," she murmured as she studied the back of the device.

"What?" the ex-soldier asked.

"That's good news." Felicity distractedly reassured him as she started fiddling with the wiring.

"How's that?" Diggle wanted to know, looking between her and the man that was all but dead on the table.

"It means it might not be the machine. It could be the wiring."

He accepted that, looking anxiously between her, the machine and their dying friend as she worked the wires. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on!"

Felicity nodded as she finished securing the wires into their proper places. "Try again."

Diggle nodded, saying clearly this time: "Clear."

And when he pressed the paddles to the proper places Oliver's whole body jolted. They both glanced at the monitor, but when the flat-line didn't change, Diggle repeated the action without saying anything. While Felicity started to wonder how the mortal would react to the much more controlled volts she might soon be sending from her own hands.

 _Beep-Beep... Beep. Beep. Beep._

They both breathed sighs of relief as Oliver's heartbeat stopped racing in its own fight for life, then resumed a regular, steady beat that the archer's body could handle.

Diggle released another relieved breath as he put the paddles away. Then he was shaking his head as he turned back to ask her, "What the hell did you do?"

Felicity shrugged, her own heartbeat also steadier now that it looked like Oliver might be all right. "I've been building computers since the eighties. Back when they were _supposed_ to look like that," she indicated the less-than-state-of-the-art computer system almost on the other side of the room. "Wires are wires." She took a deep breath, then asked. "What do we do now?"

The ex-soldier chuckled tiredly. "Pray we don't have a heart attack ourselves," he murmured. Carefully patting Oliver's shoulder as if to ensure the daredevil of a man got the message.

Felicity bit her lip, glancing between the two men and the sad computer system. Deciding after a moment that, as distractions to pass the time went, it wasn't a bad one, she said, "Speaking of computers from the eighties? I _need_ to fix that."

Both of the soldiers eyebrows found his hairline again. "Now?"

Felicity shrugged, "Well, I need _something_ to do till he wakes up."

That had him smiling slightly. "Knock yourself out."

Well, installing the computer wouldn't do that. But what she had planned for while she made the muscular former soldier carry computer parts down here for her might.

Because she wasn't willing to let Oliver Queen die tonight, and that he'd survived this long told her cheating, just a little, with her Quickening, should be okay. She couldn't heal him completely, of course; she couldn't do it even if she wanted to, but collapsing at least the major start that'd normally happen in the first few weeks into a few minutes under her hand should guarantee his heart didn't stop again. Hopefully.

As long as she could get John Diggle out of the room for the few minutes that took. And to do that, she needed to go get those computer parts... and hope the billionaire turned vigilante didn't die in the interim.

Felicity bit her lip, not really thinking about it as she laid a gentle palm under the gorgeous man's slightly scruffy jaw for a moment, willing him to be all right; to hold on, to keep living. And then she blinked as she felt her Quickening surge without any further prompting—pulsing through her palm in a flood of warmth that made the unconscious man turn into her touch, the edges of his mouth turning upward as she lent him her energy; shared the healing power of her Quickening with more ease than she'd ever imagined might be possible.

It was something that'd taken her centuries to master. Something most Immortals couldn't do.

Methos never had. He thought that was because he'd never be nearly as selfless as she was. Felicity thought it had more to do with the cold control of a great warrior—the unending watchfulness of the ultimate survivor—that he'd taught her, but she'd never entirely embraced. Not like Methos had; so much so that he could never turn it off enough to focus entirely on saving someone else without a sword at the ready in his hands.

Even for Felicity that part wasn't easy. It always took at least a few minutes of concentration to convince her subconscious to send that powerful part of herself into someone else. To work, temporarily, in someone else. Or at least it always had...

"Hey," Diggle's gentle voice startled her as he came up behind her, but she managed to not jump as his hand came down on her shoulder, while she folded her own together. "He's gonna be fine, Felicity." He told her, then nodded to the stairs. "Go on. Take a breather. Get some fresh air."

"Okay," the Immortal agreed softly.

She made herself turn to go even while she wondered why her Quickening was still humming softly in and between her palms. As if it was waiting to be used. To keep healing.

It'd never done that before either.

It was usually a struggle to keep calling it up and sending it out, pushing it through. A struggle she could make herself suffer through, but a struggle nonetheless.

The last time she'd done it had put her in a coma as she'd fought to prolong the life of a dying woman her brother loved. But the Quickening could only do so much in the body of a mortal, could only be split between its Immortal and someone else for so long. So eventually that subconscious, comatose fight had killed her. Stopped her heart.

Waking up from that death, knowing that she'd failed and Alexa was dead—her heart undoubtedly having stopped with Felicity's own—had joined her nightmares of too many devastating deaths that'd always haunt her.

Had fighting so hard, so long, for every heartbeat until her own had stopped, somehow changed Felicity more than that though?

Or was it just the draw she'd felt to Oliver Queen from the moment she met him?

"Felicity," Diggle's voice brought her out of her thoughts again when she was almost to the side door into the alley her car was still parked in. "Call, or come get me, when you get back. I'll bring everything down while you keep an eye on him."

"Okay," Felicity agreed easily, not seeing any reason to argue or ask for an explanation she already knew the answer to.

John Diggle was not a dumb man. Plus, he was a former soldier and security was his trade; he couldn't help himself. And his heavily muscled, tall frame would make a much less tempting target than a petite blonde girl carrying boxes of expensive equipment. It'd also give her the chance to try a little more healing, in the very timeframe she'd initially planned.

"Thanks," Felicity called over her shoulder as she reached the side door that really should be better hidden, considering the fact that nothing inside the vigilante's base of operations was. "I'll be back soon."

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V._

 _BEE-EEE-EEE-EEP!_

John hurried towards the gurney again, already reaching for the defibulator paddles. "He's going into cardiac arrest again."

"No!"

The sheer authority that was somehow in the I.T girl's voice—and maybe because she'd had him lugging computer parts down here for her for the last half hour?—had him hesitating as she ran around him and started looking at the wires that were coming out of some of the devices they'd attached to Oliver to monitor his unreliable heart-rate.

"The leads just came loose," Felicity told him, and a second later the flat-line sound turned into the reassuring beeps again.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Argh!" John couldn't help but growl. "It's less stressful when he's jumping off rooftops," he complained as he sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be one of the tabletops.

Felicity chuckled as she walked back towards the workstation she was putting together, only to stop instead at the table she'd set Oliver's bow down on after she'd found it still in her car upon her return to the Foundry. Her return from when she'd gone to her apartment, where she apparently kept a whole lot of brand-new, spare computer parts that she bought back here to 'modernize' the Hood's computer setup.

Though it wasn't really the computer stuff that surprised him. Not really. The billionaire vigilante _had_ found this girl in his company's tech department; she'd been recommended as one of their best...

Digg did have to wonder if that'd only been part of why Oliver had picked her out of the many I.T experts Q.C had to spare. If the fact that she was a pretty girl might not have played into his selection a lot as well—not because she was pretty, particularly, but because the longtime playboy thought he could use his charm on the girl to pull the wool over his eyes...

Something Digg had suspected in his first meeting with the blonde wasn't really happening; but by then she'd proven that, one; she was good at her job, and two, even if she wasn't fooled—she also wasn't talking. And three? Well, Digg couldn't help but wonder if Oliver had unwittingly had his 'charming' plans turned back around on him...

Especially after he'd watched the half-dead man lean into her touch with a smile. Though that likely had a lot to do with his subconscious seeking comfort when it was offered after a trauma; while he wasn't awake to make himself soldier on. Digg had still watched it with interest, since it'd seemed to make the younger man relax, his features almost lighting up even.

All the same, what really surprised the former soldier was the fact that the girl had gone home and come back, clearly without stopping for any longer than necessary. Sure, she may've washed her hands before she touched her computer parts. But she didn't take a quick shower. She didn't even change clothes. That struck him as odd. Even if the kindhearted girl's clear intention was to stay till she knew Oliver was going to be okay didn't.

The clearest read Digg had on her, after all, was that Felicity was one of those entirely too rare individuals that really cared about others. It was probably part of why Oliver didn't have trouble trusting her, even after he realized what Walter had had her looking into before he was abducted. It'd also probably prove a problem going forward, because while blood didn't seem to bother her at all, John was pretty sure being an accessory—of any kind—to murder certainly would. And what the Hood did to some of the unsavory individuals that wouldn't take the one chance he gave them to change—to prove they could change to being something other than part of the problem—well, that could be called murder. Maybe that big heart of hers could be a good thing, could help turn the Hood into more like a hero and less like an avenging angel in the shadows... but it was also why John didn't think she should be anywhere near any of this.

"Oh..." Felicity breathed out as she drew the bowstring back—and surprisingly she was able to do it without what looked like much effort at all. Apparently all that typing, combined with whatever else she did to stay in shape, really made a difference. "This bow has put arrows in quite a few people."

"Yeah." John nodded, adding on the clarification, "Bad people," without a thought.

There was no judgment in her tone; it didn't sound right. But he was a little too tired to think about why her tone—or, really, her lack of tone; lack of judgment—bothered him more than he thought a negative tone would. And he definitely was too tired to work out why it was that she seemed to know how to hold Oliver's big bow correctly.

"That doesn't bother you?" The girl wondered, her voice somewhere between curious and kind as she turned back to him, letting the bowstring go slack as she did. "Because, and I mean this in a good way," she set the bow back down as she finished. "You seem like the kind of guy it would bother."

So did she: seem like someone all of this would bother... Maybe that was why her kindness—her understanding—unsettled the him? Which would be more than a little hypocritical.

So John just sighed and tried to explain the gist of why he was here. "When I was in Afghanistan, my unit was tasked with protecting this local warlord. Gholem Qadir. Qadir was less than human. Sold opium. Sold _children_..." he shook his head, tried to shake off the revulsion he remembered feeling for the man. Revulsion he still felt. Even more for the fact that anyone on-high thought it right that American soldiers should be assigned to protect that monster. "One day, we were accompanying him to Mosul when my convoy was ambushed my insurgents."

Interestingly, Felicity wasn't looking at him as he told his story. Most civilians would be staring, too shocked by the very idea to hide their horror as they hung on his every word during any kind of war story. The tech girl that Oliver had dragged even further in his crusade tonight by hiding in her car just kept looking around.

And the occasional glances she sent his way? They weren't full of disgust or pity—they were compassionate, understanding.

Who the hell _was_ Felicity Smoak?

But again John didn't say anything, instead going on with the bad memory. One of his worst ones from the 'Stan. "We had them outgunned. Firefight didn't last more than a minute. When the smoke cleared, I moved in on their position. They were all dead." He closed his eyes.

Trying _not_ to remember how young that boy had looked with his eyes no longer full of hate because he was dead. Because John Diggle had shot him dead.

"I knew which one I had killed. When I pulled off his keffiyeh, I could see he was just a kid, no more than eighteen. And I shot him through the throat." He sighed, shaking his head wearily. "I killed this kid to protect this human piece of garbage, and I thought, am I still good? Am I still a good man?"

Now Felicity was meeting his eyes, and still there was just compassionate understanding in her gaze. Not a flicker of doubt or fear or any kind of condemnation at all.

And for the first time since John first saw her down here, as shocking and alarming as that'd been as he'd realized what it meant even before he saw the blood on her and followed her back out to the dying man in her backseat, he thought that maybe she would be able to help Oliver Queen past tonight.

Maybe this 'mission' to save Starling City was something she could accept, despite her lack of experience in the kind of past that made doing something like vigilantism for the right reasons resemble right. Feel right. Maybe even be right.

"Doing this with Oliver; doing what we do... I feel good again. For the first time in a long time." Diggle finished quietly.

"Hmm..." the blonde nodded, moving back towards Oliver's still form to study his face as she asked. "And that's worth the collateral damage?"

"I haven't killed anyone, if that's what you're asking," John replied, obviously referring to Oliver's crusade, since he'd just told her about someone he _had_ killed.

"But he has," she pointed out kindly, even as she turned to the medical cart and started shuffling through it. Again, no judgment. Just a statement of fact without emotional impact.

It wasn't surprising when she started pulling out some of the basic first-aid gear: alcohol-free anti-septic wipes and towels, and started cleaning Oliver up with them. If the man were awake he'd never allow it, but he wasn't, and she was only getting rid of all the blood and gore they'd had to ignore while they were first tending his injury, so John didn't even say anything.

Instead, the ex-soldier replied to her observation. "Unfortunately, there are always casualties when you're fighting a war."

"Yes, there are," Felicity agreed softly, her voice sounding far-off.

Again it seemed...odd. Like her mind was a million miles away, but what about all of this could trigger such thoughts in this girl that Oliver had burst out of the safe little bubble of the Q.C I.T Department?

But, again, John didn't say anything. Instead he asked, "Got anything else up in the car?" he'd looked around when he was last up there, but he hadn't looked inside her bloody backseat. It didn't seem likely that she'd put computer part there, even if they were safe in boxes, but going to get them would be something to do.

"No, other than the bloodstains under the tarp," Felicity shook her head, then gestured to the boxes he'd insisted on carrying down for her.

Partially because he didn't wanting another patient on his hands if their rickety stairs and her clear fatigue after too long a day got the best of her. Mostly though, he was wary of the attention that might befall someone who was moving a lot of boxes in the Glades eve if that someone wasn't a beautiful woman with eye-catching hair.

"If you want, you can start taking the monitors out? And I'll start setting up?"

"Yes ma'am," John chuckled and got to work.

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V._

Oliver didn't like the foggy feeling that came with waking up after passing out from blood-loss. It was almost as bad as the fog that could be induced by drugs, but not quite. And while he didn't doubt Digg had given him something to ward off infection, the man also seemed to know him well enough to only give him a mild painkiller. So his senses could still come to full-alert, even though his whole body felt entirely tired and achy from the injury, the adrenaline, pain, bloodless; everything.

He heard their footsteps coming as soon as he opened his eyes to see he was right where he was supposed to be. In the Foundry; just like Felicity Smoak had promised.

Oliver wasn't surprised. More relieved by the concrete proof that he'd been completely right about her. Right to trust her.

He didn't turn his head quickly, he waited till they were right beside him before he carefully turned, wary of the complaints his neck would probably give. But it didn't seem to... that was almost enough of a surprise to make him frown. He was sure he wasn't high on pain-meds, so why wasn't he in more than a little pain?

Before he could frown, though, he saw Felicity's anxious smile.

"I guess I didn't die. Again," Oliver commented, forcing a little smile to try and reassure the girl that'd cared enough to both save his life and keep his secret. "Cool."

Diggle just shook his head and turned away, walking towards the nearest seat.

Felicity's eyes followed the ex-soldier for a moment, but then she looked back at him, her smile seeming a little less hesitant.

Oliver's own smile widened in response.

They stayed like that, for several long seconds, then their smiles almost dropped in unison—though Oliver's only fell when Felicity frowned.

"We should've gotten you a blanket," she murmured, her tone self-chastising. "It's _freezing_ in here."

Oliver rolled his eyes, and Digg's chuckle seemed to indicate his agreement, but neither one of them tried to stop the blonde from rummaging through the nearby cabinets.

They didn't help her, either; because Oliver knew he'd thrown blankets in some cupboard down here, on the off-chance he was ever stuck here when it really was cold, but he couldn't remember where and he'd never mentioned them to John. It'd been a pretty mild winter thus far.

Felicity found them in the fourth supply cupboard she tried, picking the thickest of them before she closed the cabinet again and came back towards him. Only to frown again. "That table _has_ to be cold," she murmured unhappily.

Oliver had to chuckle at that, though his injured upper body didn't appreciate the motion anymore than it did his starting to force himself up.

"No, no!" Felicity immediately protested, "you shouldn't—"

"I'm fine, Felicity," Oliver cut her off. Still finding it easy to smile for this girl, even through the pain. But he didn't complain when Diggle came back over to help him up. He reached for the blanket once he had his legs hanging over the side.

Felicity was faster. She had the thick throw wrapped around his shoulders, like she was trying to cocoon him in it, before he'd raised his hand even halfway.

Oliver blinked at her, taken aback by her forwardness even as she stepped back, folding her hands in front of her and looking down at the ground as her cheeks turned a little rosy. Again, he couldn't help grinning at her.

"I, um—I just need to finish something up," the girl stuttered, before she spun on her heel and headed towards his computer station without another word.

Oliver's eyes followed her, and his eyebrows immediately went up as he saw said station for the first time since waking. Apparently the I.T girl had kept busy while waiting for him to wake up.

But where had she gotten all the computer parts? She was still wearing the same clothes she had on when she found him in her car! Bloodstains and all!

"I sewed you up," Digg told him. "After we took the bullet out. Almost didn't; you'd already lost a lot of blood as it was. But Felicity pointed out it was a lot bigger than the shrapnel field medics leave in after I.E.D's, and that it was better to get it out now anyway." He grimaced. "Almost regretted it, when the heart monitor went wonky right after we pulled it out, but your bleeding seemed to slow down a lot after that. But we should get better equipment," he indicated the device they'd had Oliver hooked up to. "That one served its purpose, but Felicity says something's wrong with the wiring. She's a genius with all electronics, I guess, so she fixed it. But there's better stuff out there."

Oliver nodded, having expected this as soon as the ex-soldier started complaining. Though he was actually surprised they'd taken the bullet out, and that it'd worked out well. Apparently the contingencies he'd started forming as soon as he woke up—that would require him owing Amanda more favors if he needed to have ARGUS remove the bullet or at least provide a cover for it—wouldn't be necessary.

As long as Detective Lance, and anyone else, didn't realize that Oliver had gotten a gunshot wound in the same timeframe that his mother had shot the Vigilante, everything should be fine.

So he just nodded his thanks as he accepted the mirror that Diggle had brought over to him, shifting the blanket aside to look at his newest scar's reflection, though he first had to pull off the trauma pad they'd covered it with.

Something which surprisingly didn't make the injury start bleeding anew. In fact, it looked like the stitches had actually closed it completely. And considering it was a gunshot wound he'd received at nearly point-blank range, that was more than a little lucky.

"It's not bad," he commented, before looking back at his friend. "How am I going to explain this one?"

Diggle actually smirked. "Hickie gone wrong?"

Oliver gave him his best unimpressed look, then tried to bite back a grimace as he set the mirror down and tugged the blanket back into place, not bothering with putting the trauma pad back or asking for a new one just yet since the wound wasn't bleeding anyway.

"The police collected a sample of your blood at _Queen Consolidated_." Felicity called out then, though she didn't need to speak so loudly to gain their attention, it told him that they'd probably been speaking too softly for her to hear. Probably.

Oliver turned to look over at her, blinking in surprise at her thoroughness. Though he supposed, since computers were her specialty and she was the best Q.C had to offer, he shouldn't be surprised.

"I just hacked the crime lab and ordered the sample destroyed." She told them, pressing a button on the new—brand-new, from the looks of it—touch-screen monitor, then shrugging as she turned back to them—spinning in the new computer chair—with a smile. " _Oops_."

Oliver carefully shifted off the table, then walked over to her, glancing at the new setup that was so significantly more state-of-the-art than before that it all but demanded inspection.

The I.T girl smiled nervously, "I hope it's all right," she murmured as she stood up, shaking her head as she gestured to the three new computers she'd replaced his one with. "Your system looked like it was from the eighties, and not the good part of the eighties, like Madonna and, well, legwarmers."

Oliver again found himself smiling easily as he nodded.

Accepting such a setup from Felicity was easier than it'd ever be from Amanda, after all: he didn't like owing the Head of ARGUS any more favors than he had to.

"It's a lot of work," he commented, before catching her eyes. "Does that mean you're in?"

The corners of Felicity's mouth tugged further upward as she looked around, breaking eye-contact with him to do so. "You mean 'in' as in; I'm going to join your... crusade?" she hesitated on the last word, which could be why it sounded so odd as she said it.

The way the syllables twisted their way off her tongue made it sound like the word itself offended her somehow... At least, he hoped that was the case. Hoped that it wasn't that she was so entirely opposed to what he was doing for it to be leaking past her happy mask now. Because he'd been able to talk Diggle around, but the ex-soldier had objected with a fist to the face, not nervous smiles and careful words.

"Well," Oliver cocked his head to the side, trying and failing to catch her gaze again. "You're practically an honorary member of the team already."

Felicity hummed affirmation as she nodded, still looking away. "So Mister Diggle said..."

Diggle shrugged when Oliver looked at him.

This time, when Oliver looked back at Felicity again, she met his expectant gaze evenly, and he knew her answer even before she said it.

"I don't know," she sighed, shaking her head slowly.

Sadly? As if she didn't want to follow through with the motion; so maybe he had a chance?

Oliver's eyebrows shot up, though he couldn't say which was more surprising; her uncertain refusal, or the thought that he could see that a good argument might change her mind. "Then why'd you upgrade my system?"

She rolled her eyes, "Firstly, because seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me. In my soul," the I.T girl gestured behind her to the new computer setup before bringing her hand back to cover her heart—obviously referring to what'd been there before. "And second..." she hesitated, taking a slow breath.

And Oliver waited for whatever it was that could be worse than telling an unpredictable—if injured—vigilante that you weren't willing to help them.

"I want to find Walter."

Oliver cocked his head to the side, sincerely segwayed. "My stepfather," he clarified, even though there couldn't be anyone else she might mean.

Felicity nodded. "He was nice to me," she told him, her voice so small and timid it barely sounded like the genius he'd sought out not long after his return home. She continued more firmly as she indicated the former soldier that was silently following their dialogue. "And Mister Diggle told me that the notebook you use to fight crime is the same notebook that got Walter abducted."

This time Oliver was frowning as he glanced at the former soldier again, but he still only got a shrug in response. Then he had to turn back to Felicity as she continued resolutely.

"I'll help you rescue him, but that's it. Then I want to go back to my boring life as an I.T girl. That's... my offer." She said it all so quickly that he knew she'd been thinking this through for at least most of the time they'd been waiting for him to wake-up.

Her mind was made up. He could see it in her eyes, too. But she wasn't really saying 'no.' So he could still change her mind.

Oliver nodded seriously as he accepted the arrangement, "Okay."

Which earned him an instant smile from Felicity, one that outshone all the previous ones he'd seen ten-fold for sheer joy. A smile so bright it outshone every light lighting the room.

Though it fell a moment later, back towards the nervous smile, as she asked, "So, I-uh, I've been meaning to ask... Is there a bathroom? 'Cause I've had to pee since I got here."

Oliver chuckled as he indicated the nearby staircase. "Its upstairs, to the left."

And he was, again, unexpectedly touched. That she's apparently been so worried for him. Though it did make him wonder, again, where all the computer parts had come from. Diggle wouldn't have let her have anything shipped here...would he?

"Great," his tech girl nodded, before she started hurrying around him towards the indicated stairs.

Oliver turned with her, "Felicity..." he held out his hand to her as she stopped, waiting for her to accept the handshake.

She did; though she gingerly let him decide how much he wanted his hand to move. Like she was afraid a handshake could hurt him.

Then again, he should probably still be in bed—or on the gurney. To those who hadn't survived the sorts of hell he had, it would probably be unthinkable for him to be already up and about like he was... but the wound wasn't bleeding and there were no painful signs that he was pushing his abused body too far. If anything, his shoulder felt like he'd gotten shot days ago—rather than just a handful of hours—and was already on the mend. Since he wasn't bleeding anymore and wasn't lightheaded from the blood he had lost (likely due to a transfusion while he was unconscious), he'd have to assume he'd been very, very lucky in where his mother's bullet had hit him... and he really needed to find out what the hell they'd given him for painkillers.

It wasn't the time though, so Oliver shoved the thoughts back as he nodded seriously to the blonde, "Thank you."

That earned him a softer smile and a nod. "Yeah," she agreed, before gently tugging her hand away and resuming her rushed-walk towards the aforementioned bathroom.

Oliver watched her go, trying not miss the somehow familiar warmth of her small hand encased in his, and to get his head around all the surprises that seemed to come from this unique woman. He wasn't surprised when Diggle spoke up as soon as she was out of earshot.

"Oliver, I know you don't want to hurt this girl and you didn't have any choice in telling her who you really were, but..." his 'bodyguard' met his eyes squarely as the billionaire turned back around. "We're asking her to get involved in some pretty dangerous stuff."

"We can protect her." Oliver answered firmly, with every intention of keeping Felicity Smoak far away from anything and everything that might be at all dangerous, whether she started helping them all the time or not.

" _How?_ " Digg demanded, the word almost a scoff as his eyebrows rose up by his hairline. "Your _mother_ just _shot_ you, Oliver. You can't even keep yourself safe."

And now they were onto what was really bothering his pseudo-bodyguard. Not that the man wasn't honestly concerned for the I.T girl, too, but he was also very invested in the fact that Moira Queen was up to something, something bad, and that Oliver just wasn't willing to see it because she was his mother. What'd led to him breaking into his mother's office and pointing an arrow at her in the first place.

"She was scared," Oliver told him firmly. "She was defending herself."

"Or," Diggle shook his head. "She was hiding something."

Oliver looked away, pressing his lips together into a firm line. It wasn't to keep any words from slipping out. He really didn't know what to say.

"Like maybe her involvement in Walter's disappearance?" Digg kept pushing. "Or worse?"

 _'Please don't kill me!'_ his mother's terror filled pleas echoed from his memories. _'Please don't take me from my children!'_

The words came to him then.

"Diggle, we don't always know why people do what they do." Oliver met his eyes again, even though that hadn't helped convince him yet. "But what I _do_ know, is that when I was standing in her office with an arrow aimed at her heart? She begged me to spare her, all on behalf of; _me_ , and Thea."

That finally gave the former soldier pause, but Oliver kept going even as his friend looked away.

"Now, I've taken down a lot of bad people. _None_ of them brought up their kids, Digg."

"Oliver," Diggle sighed, "She had the List."

The billionaire broke eye-contact this time, shaking his head even as his friend went on.

"Now, she may not be in charge of whatever 'it' is, but she's definitely involved."

"Involved in _what?!_ We don't even know _what_ _'it'_ is!" Oliver all but snarled, scowling with every bit of fury the Island—and all that followed—had taught him. "And until we do, she is _off_ limits!"

Diggle didn't back down right away; he never did, and he'd be much less useful to Oliver if that was in his nature.

So Oliver pressed further, "Am I clear?"

After another long moment, Diggle nodded.

Oliver knew it was too soon to relax, but the minute strain he'd been putting his recovering body under by just standing there and arguing was making itself known via an exhausted ache that seemed to stretch through every sinew. He wasn't doing himself any favors standing there some more, so he stepped back to sit down—sink down—into the much nicer (and also new) computer chair that'd also appeared while he was unconscious. And again, he wondered, even as he flipped back the blanket to let the cold air hit his wound again, if Diggle had actually let Felicity have all of this delivered to this 'abandoned' factory. It was now under construction to become a nightclub, so it shouldn't be suspicious enough to draw too much attention, but it set a worrying precedent.

Diggle spoke up before the billionaire could think of a way to ask about all this without implying that his partner was an idiot, "But Oliver," he continued, his tone much gentler now. "Are you saying this because you truly believe she's innocent?"

Oliver was glaring at him before he finished, knowing what words were coming, but Digg said them anyway.

"Or because you don't want to face the fact that your mother might be guilty?"

Oliver couldn't answer that, not without opening up the debate on whether or not his mother should still be the Hood's continuing target. So he just watched Diggle as the other man walked away.

His so-called 'bodyguard' wouldn't go far. Part of their arrangement was that he continue to play the role, and that meant he was Oliver's ride home. And he wouldn't leave Oliver alone here, not injured; anymore than he'd expect the I.T girl that'd just sort of joined their team to take care of him by herself.

He glanced up as the door to the inside of the factory opened up the admit said I.T girl back into the basement. "Find it okay?" he called up to her, again surprised when he realized he could tilt his head at that angle without his neck screaming protests. Especially after the exhausted aching had just made itself so suddenly known... it was odd.

Having been shot before, he knew it should hurt like hell. Granted, the Amazo had given him is most-similar G.S.W, and Ivo hadn't given them any kind of compassionate treatment during his sick experiments—let alone painkillers of any kind. But still, this should hurt more, shouldn't it?

What the hell had they given him for drugs? Because Oliver was going to buy it in bulk from now on. Something he should probably be doing anyway, come to think of it; to avoid suspicion. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it.

"Yeah, thanks," Felicity flashed him another smile as she came down the stairs, and a glance told him what'd actually taken so long. She'd taken the time to finally clean up, at least a little.

Her blouse was probably a lost cause; bloodstains and silk were something that couldn't be fixed by the laundry. Something Oliver had known even before he'd learned how to do laundry himself, because of the time Raisa had actually burst into tears when he'd asked her where his favorite dress shirt was. He'd been getting ready to move to... actually, he wasn't sure if that was Ivy League #2 or #3. All he really remembered was that a college was why he'd been asking, that particular silk shirt had come to mind when his mother told him to dress sharply; and that all such thoughts had been driven from his head by the sight of the woman who'd mostly raised him in tears...

But other than that condemning stain, the I.T girl looked presentable. Her long coat nearly hid the blouse from view anyway, and her sunny smile made it hard to notice the modest outfit she was wearing anyway.

A smile could hide a lot, he remembered Amanda advising him back when she'd been teaching him to 'embrace the darkness.' After all: you smiled when everything was good, so a smile was the best defense if you wanted everyone to think that nothing was wrong. Not unexpectedly, the advise had followed Oliver home to Starling City again. Though he wasn't sure why he was thinking of it now.

"We're going to install a shower down here," Oliver found himself telling her, grimacing when that got him an arched eyebrow. "We have to hide everything from the workmen, though, so—"

"And you need a reason to have a bathroom in the basement," She cut him off kindly, her smile looking like more of a smirk as she nodded. "Yeah, makes sense. Your club looks nice," she rambled on, now nervous again. "I mean, if you ignore all the construction equipment that's still there and pretend it's clean and... it'll look great when it's done."

Oliver chuckled, "Tommy's got everything pretty well taken care of," he agreed. Then asked more seriously, "Do you have any spare keys?"

"What?" she blinked at him, her big blue eyes wide behind her glasses.

"For your car," Oliver explained. "I can have Diggle get it cleaned up when you're at work, or whenever you want." Then he shrugged. "Unless you'd like a new car, instead? I'm good for that, too."

"...Thank you," Felicity nodded a little stiffly after another hesitation. "But that's not necessary."

"Those stains aren't going to come out easily," Oliver told her; mostly because he really didn't want her trying to explain to a too curious stranger how her back seat had gotten covered in blood. Because he could just imagine her babbling about how she _'hadn't_ found the Starling City Vigilante hiding in her backseat after he was shot. Really.'

The thought made him wince. And his new friend noticed.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, clear concern on her pretty face again as she came closer, but she caught herself a step away from him and stopped; dropping her hand uncertainly.

"I'll be fine," Oliver reassured her, meeting her eyes seriously. "And I said I'd take care of your car, Felicity. It's the least I can do. Please," he tacked on the last word when it looked like she'd object again, and it was enough to stop her.

The blonde's shoulders sagged as she sighed. "Fine... I have to be at work in," she glanced at her watch and winced. "Three hours. But I have to stop at home to shower and change, and I'll probably stop somewhere for coffee—and maybe a few energy drinks—but I have a spare key in my desk, at work. And at home. He can stop by whenever he's free."

Oliver was frowning again before she was halfway through that ramble, but he let her finish before he told her. "You should take the day, Felicity. Get some sleep."

"Nuh-uh," the I.T girl shook her head immediately. "I don't get sick, so I haven't taken one sick day since I started at Q.C, and I'm not going to start now just 'cause I had to pull an all-nighter. The tyrant would make me regret it. I'll take a nap during my lunch break." She was frowning as she considered that. "Though I'll have to find a new hiding place if Mister Diggle takes my car before that."

Oliver shook his head, everything in him against the idea of this woman driving anywhere on next to no sleep. Though he also filed away 'the tyrant' comment for later research; if she was going to be working with them, he needed to know how her work environment might affect them, and vice-versa.

Felicity wasn't trained to work these kind of hours; which was made obvious by the fact that she wasn't even contemplating an attempt at a catnap until she was halfway through her workday. As if the half-hour nap she might be able to take then could make up for not getting any sleep at all the night before.

The idea of her driving home, then to work, working, and then trying to drive home again, didn't sit well with him at all. All it'd take was her nodding off, even for just a second, at just the wrong second, and she'd be _gone_...

"Then I'm hiring you for the day," Oliver decided firmly, going on before she could do anything more than frown. "I'll clear it with your supervisor. I need someone to start working on the security system here at the club, and since you've already done everything that can be done till the cameras are installed, you can spend the rest of the day sleeping."

"Mister..." she stopped, hesitating another moment as she shook her head, then tried to insist; "Oliver, you can't—"

"It's my name on the building, Felicity. Your supervisor won't say a thing."

Felicity's wince at the mention of her supervisor told him it might not be as easy as all that. It was unlikely anyone at Q.C would even say 'boo' to Oliver, but that didn't mean some people wouldn't agree with him then give Felicity afterwards. Further confirmation that 'the tyrant' probably was said supervisor. Who wouldn't bother her by the time Oliver was through with him. This might stir up a little trouble with his mom—but since the Hood had just broken into _Queen Consolidated_ , he doubted she'd say anything once he used the cover of having a security system installed in the place he'd be spending the majority of his time.

"Okay, you win," Felicity conceded with a sigh; then jerked her chin up stubbornly before he could respond. "But only if you let me bandage you up again. You were just shot!"

Oliver rolled his eyes, but then nodded, "Sure." He spun in the chair to watch her as she made her way back to the medical supply cart; clearly having already looked through it enough times to know where what she needed was. The action reminded him of the new chair he was sitting in and the new computers behind him. "Where did you get all of this stuff, anyway?"

"Hmm?" Felicity glanced back at him, then turned back to the cart, still collecting supplies once she'd registered what he was indicating. "Oh. I have a storage locker full of, um, this sort of stuff," she shrugged as she turned and made her way back to him, setting her tray of goodies on the table beside him. "I build computers sometimes; as a hobby."

Oliver leaned back in the chair. "Okay, I get how that'd lead to you have a few spare parts lying around. But three brand-new computers? And a chair?"

"The chair's my backup; the ones Q.C provides suck—sorry, but they do—so most of us buy our own," Felicity replied evenly, her eyes locked on his wound, which she was surprisingly not at all squeamish about. She looked right at it without flinching or wrinkling her nose, and her hands were as steady as any professional's; gentle, but thorough. "And I've been competing with a friend, recently. We try to beat each other every few years; see who can build a better computer. Or, well, sometimes it's... other stuff."

Oliver wasn't about to let that lay, even as she was bandaging him up, "'Other stuff?'"

The I.T expert sighed, then admitted, "Mostly hacking, these days."

"Hacking?" Oliver wasn't surprised.

Not at all. Not by the reference to hacking at least. He already knew she was a computer genius, after all. Hacking wasn't a huge leap from there.

No, what he was still surprised by was the fact that it didn't feel like she was stabbing him each time she prodded his injury while cleaning it—clearly she was checking the stitches, to make sure he hadn't pulled them. Though what sort of experience or training she had to judge them by was a mystery. He really, really needed to find out what the hell they gave him for painkillers.

"Um-hum," the blonde verified without expounding, all of her focus fixed on taping the new trauma pad securely to his shoulder.

"Hacking what?" Oliver pressed, curious to see how much he could get her to reveal. Not sure why he was following that conversation instead of just asking the questions that kept coming back around in his head.

The I.T expert sighed, finishing pressing the last piece of tape into place before she stepped back and put her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side just like she had that first time he'd tried to lie to her and hadn't been believe; except this time he was the one looking up at her. "I think we've already had more than enough surprises for one day, Mister Queen, don't you think?"

"Sure," Oliver chuckled, willing to give her that one. For now. "And I told you, it's Oliver."

XXX.

* * *

 _Methos' P.O.V._

Methos frowned as the reporter finished his brief spiel about the break-in at _Queen Consolidated_ the previous night.

Although he was thousands of miles away from Starling City, it wasn't much of a surprise that the story had made it into the local news. Big companies merited the media's attention; especially since it wasn't just a break-in, but the city's own Vigilante—every time he was in the news there seemed to be a capital 'V' there, unless they were calling him 'The Hood,' in which case there were two capitals. Sometimes the 'The' was capitalized before 'Vigilante,' too.

Methos didn't really care about either.

Except for the fact that Felicity now worked at _Queen Consolidated_ , in their headquarters, which were in Starling City. And though she'd supposedly chosen to play a 'lowly I.T girl' this time around, her past history told him that the odds were very good that she'd somehow cross paths with this man that the reporters were occasionally calling a hero now. Particularly since she'd been starting to chafe against boring, normal, safe lives these past few decades, as the memories of past traumas started to become a little less relevant.

And, thanks to the contacts Methos still had within the Watchers, Starling City was already on his mind. Really them knowing that he was an Immortal (not Methos, of course, but former Research Watcher Adam Pearson) worked out pretty well for him. Because there were quite a few Watchers who liked the idea of following in Joe Dawson's footsteps, and an Immortal who'd supposedly once been one of them was much less intimidating than some of the other Immortals that the Watchers could supposedly directly approach because they knew about the mortals that kept track of their lives. There'd come a time when Methos would need to lose them; maybe even a time when he'd have to out of more than annoyance one felt for a cricket that'd kept chirping nearby too long. But until then several of them were more than happy to send him emails every now and again telling him about certain places—and people—he should avoid.

The latest warning was interesting. It essentially boiled down to: don't go to Starling City because there's a jewel thief on his way there that's known for decapitating people. Not because he's an Immortal. No. Winnick Norton was a mortal man born in London. He just liked to slap bomb-collars on people to make them steal for him, and he'd blown a head off for failure to comply before.

The mention of this 'Dodger' would just be vaguely interesting, perhaps even morbidly entertaining, if not for the city he was setting up shop in next. Starling City. Felicity Smoak's current home of choice.

Felicity Smoak—because that was her name now. She _always_ insisted on being addressed by the name she'd chosen for her current lifetime. Something computers and encrypted emails had made it a little easier to keep up on than it'd once been, but he still found it a little odd sometimes.

Sure, he changed his name all the time, too, but in his head he'd always be 'Methos.' He was pretty sure her name wasn't so stuck in place. Wasn't so important to her.

Maybe because changing her name was part of how she let go of the past? Or something similar? That was something he knew she had trouble with even when it was planned.

It almost wasn't worth calling her, but he had to try. If only so he might be able to talk himself out of actually _going_ there to maybe kill her—temporarily—and move her to somewhere safer. Because he just knew he wouldn't be able to get her to go on vacation while the bomb-collar wielding jewel-thief was in town. Still, he tried.

" _Hel-lo?_ " Felicity answered after the third ring, a yawn audible through the word even as she tried to muffle the one that followed: ineffectively thanks to her state-of-the-art phone's super sensitive receiver.

Methos frowned and did the math a second time as he glanced at the clock. "Why are you sleeping? It's almost 1 P.M there, isn't it?"

" _Hum, yes, it is,_ " his old friend and former student confirmed. " _So; good afternoon._ "

Methos rolled his eyes, knowing she wouldn't explain till he returned the pleasantry. Not unless he played the 'it's an emergency' card, and he knew better than to lie about that.

Even if any _sensible_ Immortal would recognize that some mortal who goes around decapitating people coming to your town _should_ be something you'd worried about.

"Good afternoon."

Felicity chuckled, but finally explained. " _I had to pull an all-nighter last night... Installing a security system._ "

Methos heard the hesitation, and it had him frowning again. "For the Queens? The Queen Family?"

Another hesitation, then;

" _Kind of,_ " Felicity verified evasively; clearly not wanting to talk about her work.

Her moral code was too strong for gossip, it always had been.

That might come from her childhood. Being raised a princess, only to become a ruling queen before she hit puberty... thankfully, though, that was years before she met her first death, and then woke as an Immortal.

Where an Immortal came from was always a key piece in their personality. Even if the one parent that'd raised them had only been there a few short years, some personalities were strong enough to leave a great impression. And from everything he'd heard of Dido of Carthage, well before she became a legend from ancient times she was certainly an impressive individual—even before he'd met her daughter that history had kindly forgotten with just a bit of help.

Maybe all of Felicity's morals didn't come from the mother she'd watched walk into a funeral pyre. The basis was there, though... and the sheer stubbornness of the first Carthaginian queen certainly carried through to the second one.

Felicitas had live a very privileged childhood, though it was a short one, which wasn't at all uncommon back then. Then she'd been an excellent sovereign—both to Carthage in her youth, and every other time she'd _somehow_ ended up leading nations after that. Nonetheless, she'd always referred to the privilege, the 'trappings of wealth' and whatnot, as an elaborately gilded cage she had to 'put up with to get anything done.'

In this day and age, she could now live as merely an independent woman. She didn't have to be a powerful queen or even a guarded noblewoman for her self-autonomy to be assured. But that was a very, very new thing to a woman that'd been around for several millennia. And said millennia had undoubtedly had a lasting effect on her opinion of ethics.

" _ **So what can I do for you this fine afternoon, big brother?**_ " Felicity asked, slipping easily into her first tongue as he heard her coffee-grinder start up in the background, which immediately made him want coffee, too.

The only student he considered family was fluent in many, many different tongues, just like he was; they'd had to learn them, after all, as the times changed and they wandered the world as their kind must. But an extinct language, one that nearly no one would ever recognize these days, was always a safe bet. Even most learned scholars who could read it wouldn't have an easy time with its use in conversation. And even when they didn't particularly need to be paranoid, it was comfortable.

It was also her way of asking him if this was an Immortal issue. If he was warning her about a head hunter headed her way. He did that sometimes; and sometimes she actually listened to him and avoided the bastard. Other times she didn't.

Methos replied in Carthaginian just as easily. " _ **You can agree to a vacation.**_ "

Most scholars referred to the dead tongue as 'The Punic language,' but some recognized it as 'Phoenicio-Punic' or 'Carthaginian.' In ancient times, it'd depended where you were, what the dialect twisting the words were. Though the scholarly designation wasn't one he'd ever heard the Canaanite language called. No. It was primarily known as the tongue of the Carthaginian Empire, after all; a nation that'd extended through much of Northern Africa and across several islands in the Mediterranean, spoken by the Punic peoples of that nation from about 800 B.C. to 600 A.D. Though it'd twisted into more divergent dialects after the Romans destroyed Carthage was by in 146 B.C. Well after Felicitas and Methos had long left the region...

Felicity snorted. " _ **When?**_ " she asked, the sarcasm so thick through the word that it almost wasn't worth replying.

But then Methos knew this call would be like that, so he promptly answered; " _ **Right now. Anywhere you want.**_ "

He knew she wouldn't bite, but he still tried. Unfortunately there wasn't something specific going on somewhere other than Starling City right now to tempt her with, because without something of that sort he could really only expect one response from her.

He could almost see her rolling her eyes before she replied. " _ **Thank you, but no. I have to give at least a little notice at work.**_ "

Methos just sighed, "Then just promise me you'll stay away from any and all jewelry—jewels of any kind—in Starling City that might've originated in Spain during Ferdinand's reign after 1812."

" _...Why?_ "

" _Because_ ," Methos bit out, trying to convince himself that every word he was saying wasn't a waste of time. "A jewel-thief called the Dodger's headed to Starling City and he likes stuff from the ominous period."

" _A jewel thief,_ " Felicity repeated, thought about it a moment, then pointed out. " _You know, Amanda steals jewels. You don't try to make me avoid her._ "

"She steals the jewels herself, and if she wanted your help she'd just ask. And take 'no' for an answer—usually." Methos replied dryly, though the words were sharper as he went on; "She wouldn't put a bomb around your neck and make you steal the jewels for her."

" _...Oh. Oh wow, this guy really is pretty nasty, isn't he?_ " His former student replied, now sounding a little distracted. Which told him she was probably already hacking her way through Interpol or something similar.

"Yeah, he—"

" _Why would he come to Starling?_ "

"Who cares?" Methos demanded.

" _Hey, you brought him up,_ " Felicity pointed out. " _You actually called me about him. And woke me up._ "

" _ **Because I don't want some mortal who's too lazy to risk his own neck for some jewels blowing yours up!**_ " Methos snapped, in Carthaginian again; then scowled when she actually tisked at him.

" _ **Big Brother,**_ _you do realize Starling City is a city, right?_ " She asked, going on before he could snarl the obvious answer. " _One with over half-a-million people living in it?_ "

" _Yeah, well, you're the only one I know,_ " Methos retorted after taking a deep breath. " _ **And you have a history of finding people like this.**_ "

" _I do not!_ "

There were dozens—maybe even hundreds—of incidents he could start listing off if he wanted to, but that wouldn't get them anywhere.

"You don't even _like_ jewelry that much," Methos reminded her. "It reminds you of the _**gilded cages**_ , remember?"

" _That's... kind of true, I guess. The reminder part, anyway,_ " Felicity allowed, before continuing with an obvious pout in her voice. " _But I like jewelry._ "

Methos rolled his eyes. "Just promise you'll stay behind your computer screens and not go jewelry shopping or to any museums while he's in town."

" _...How long's he gonna be in town?_ "

"Felicitas!" Methos growled her original name without really thinking about it.

Normally he wouldn't use their ancient names where anyone might hear them, let alone record them. But there wasn't enough chance of that happening now for paranoia to block his aggravation with his former student.

Said student, of course, all but ignored him. " _How do you even know he's coming to Starling?_ "

" _ **The Watchers told me,**_ " Methos replied without really thinking about it, then winced. " _ **And disliking their choice of occupation is no reason to ignore their warning.**_ "

This time the hesitation was shorter, and her voice was thoughtful as she replied back in the dead language of her childhood. " _ **Why would the Watchers be watching him? You said he's mortal.**_ "

"I didn't ask. Didn't care." Methos admitted. "Felicity, you—"

" _ **Thank you for the warning, Big Brother**_ _,_ " the younger ancient cut him off, the precise formality of the Phoenician she was using now reminiscent of the queen she'd been raised to become long ago. The regal ruler that never failed to impress: even him. " _ **I shall endeavor to avoid losing my head over any trinkets.**_ " The crisp regality left her voice as she switched to English once more, " _Anything else to chat about?_ "

"Starling City's Vigilante paid your boss a visit recently, didn't he?"

Another hesitation before she answered. " _Yeah. Yeah, he did. Apparently._ "

Damn. That meant she was hiding something. Something he wouldn't like anymore than any of the other times he'd turned up in her life to find it full of a lot more danger than he'd ever taught her to seek out.

If it was something that involved the archer in Starling City, as her hesitation implied... well, Methos could be glad, at least, that the man was just running around shooting arrows into people, he guessed.

But that sort of skill-set wasn't common in this Age. Even if movies about—or at least involving—amazing archers seemed to be an 'in' thing for Hollywood of late. Even if that simple fact had renewed interest in the bow and arrow.

Interest alone did not make a warrior. And the man parkouring around Starling City, taking on whole gangs alone, and sometimes putting people down with arrows, was a warrior.

Maybe even his sister's 'type,' with his luck.

Methos sighed, wondering how long it'd be before he finally had to stop wondering and just go see what she'd gotten herself into now. "I'll have my cell phone on me all the time," he told her firmly. "You'll call me if you need anything."

" _ **Of course, Big Brother... And thank you.**_ "

* * *

 _End of_ _ **Chapter 2: Sudden Life Changes**_.

* * *

 **NEXT:** **Real Near-Death Experience Number...what?**

 _Because bomb collars were a bad invention._

* * *

 **Originally posted on 6/8/2015.**

 **REVISED: 9/26/2015.**

 _Author's Revision Note: Ok! There's the revision! One new scene, a few new tidbits thrown in._

* * *

 _Author's Note: It may interest my readers on_ _to know that I am posting this fanfic as an ongoing series on_ _Archive of Our Own_ _. Each chapter here (at least the longer ones) is its own story there, posted with each scene/point-of-view as a chapter, and therefore updated much more regularly. The chapters I post here will be the same, but the wait will be longer because I plan to complete each segment, and proof-read some more, before reposting here. Up to you how you want to follow it._

 _Reviews/Comments are always helpful and very much appreciated!_

 _P.S: A thousand thanks to everyone has commented, reviewed_ _and kudo'd. Hope you like the rest of the series, too! :-D_


	4. Chapter 3: Real Near-Death Experience

**Originally posted on 6/6/2015. REVISED: 10/1/2015.**

* * *

 **Felicitas** **by Jess S**.

 _ **Chapter 3: Real Near-Death Experience Number...what?**_

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V._

 _Bam! Bam-Bam! Bam-Bam!_

Oliver was almost smiling as he moved full-speed through one of his harder training regimens against the Wing-Chun dummy with fists and an eskrima. It was amazing how much of a relief it was: that moment when he'd proven to himself that he really was recovered from a major injury.

 _Bam-Bam-Crack! Crack-Crack! Crack!_

This time it was even more surprising, since it'd seemed to happen a lot faster than he would've expected.

A lot faster than his teammates thought, too. Neither Felicity or Diggle liked watching him force himself to get going; to fight himself back into shape. And while Felicity's worries had been based entirely in her concern for his well-being after she'd helped saved his life, Digg's had been more based in experience.

 _Bam-Bam! Bam-Bam! Crack! Bam-Crack!_

But recovery time was over. Unbelievably, even to Oliver, the new scar in his torso didn't even hurt anymore. And after the last time he'd worn the Hood had ended so badly, he knew he needed to make himself get back out there.

 _Bam-Bam! Crack! Crack!_

"You might want to take it easy if you plan on taking someone off that list tonight," Diggle suggested calmly. His version of nodding off on the fact that Oliver really was ready to go back in action; an ongoing debate of the last few weeks that'd ended in Oliver still needing time to recuperate.

Those first few weeks were the hardest. He'd known he'd needed the time, but hadn't wanted to go back to the mansion anymore than he had to, at least not until the stitches had come out. And avoiding his mother, at least until the wound was mostly mended, was a lot easier if he spent as little time as the mansion as possible.

Oliver set the stick against the dummy's ulna, then to prove he could; deliberately twisting his torso—right through his latest scar—to snap the stick in two.

 _CRACK!_

And amazingly enough even that specific strain didn't make the scar tissue ache anymore.

"This is me taking it easy," Oliver reminded his friend with a mild tone that wasn't hard to muster now that he was fully mended. And mindful of the I.T girl whose eyes had been locked on him more than her computers as he practiced.

Felicity had been down here, on her computer system—her computers, not his, he'd learned very quickly—a lot more than he'd expected these past few weeks.

Initially he'd suspected it was just to keep an eye on him, but he hadn't really been able to be annoyed by it. She wasn't overbearing about it as long as no one else was touching _her_ computers or changing the settings on _her_ chair. And the few times she'd actually spoken up to caution him against anything—trying to climb up the salmon ladder again much too soon, turning to spar with the dummy when Diggle told him they had to stop because Oliver himself should rest—she _had_ been right.

From what Oliver had seen each time he'd glanced at her computer screens, she was diligently working on the search for his stepfather. Combing through various media sources he would've used, and plenty of classified material in agencies he would have had much more difficulty obtaining. No luck yet though.

And Oliver was glad.

He knew he shouldn't be. And he did want to find Walter. For his mother. And Thea. He'd been looking ever since the man went missing; almost two months ago now.

But he was already used to the sound of the keyboard clicking away in the background, Felicity's fast typing occasionally joined by the soft sound of her humming a tune that'd gotten caught in her head. If finding Walter meant losing her back to 'her boring life' as an I.T girl... which probably didn't include occasionally continuing to help him unless he came up with much better cover stories.

"So who's our lucky guy tonight?" Digg asked as the vigilante started to get ready for his first night out in too many weeks.

"Ken Williams," Oliver answered, going on to explain on the off-chance that it could keep his new tech-expert from fearing him. "His pyramid scheme stole millions. People didn't just lose their homes. Their lives were ruined."

Although he wasn't entirely sure why Felicity didn't fear him as it was. Her attractions to him notwithstanding, it seemed odd that clear proof of his lethal skills—even though he was only training in front of her, it—hadn't seemed to remind her of the lives he'd taken. Or the lives he'd already taken. But, like training, and even talking of his intentions, didn't seem to faze her at all.

Felicity just kept working, typing and clicking away like he hadn't just told them the next name on The List—the first one he'd being hooded up for with her down here. He knew she wasn't that wrapped up in her work though; he'd yet to really startle the I.T girl without meaning to. Something he couldn't always manage at home with his family, even before his mother had unknowingly shot him. In fact, Oliver could think of a whole handful of times where he'd realized he should have made more noise as he approached his I.T girl, but the flinch, or gasp, or yell had never come. He had yet to decide if she was that good at not reacting, or if she'd just known he was there. He couldn't even decide which one he'd prefer, since neither one made much sense for a 'boring I.T girl.'

Not that that word fit her anyway. Brilliant. Bold. Bright. Beautiful. And braver than he ever could've expected. But not boring. Never.

Oliver decided not to question her lack of reaction—again—as he pulled on the thermal shirt that he wore under his leathers (at least when the wind-chill guaranteed frost-bite to the unwary), then he grabbed the coat along with his bow and already ready quiver. "Why don't you two call it in early tonight? I'm not expecting much trouble."

He still half-expected an objection of some kind from Felicity. This was, after all, the first time he'd admitted in front of her that he was headed out with the intention of pointing an arrow at somebody. But when no objection came, he didn't wait for it, heading briskly towards the door out into the alley instead.

Which may have been why the surprise of his code not working, either the first time or then when he tried again, just to make sure he hadn't accidentally hit in the wrong code (even though he knew he hadn't), irritated him so much.

" _Felicity!_ " he shouted her name as he turned, forcing his volume down after that even as he stormed back towards her. "Did you just—"

"Computer override your lock?" the girl winced through a nod. "Maybe a little." She held her hand up to indicate a small amount of space to emphasize the smallness of her confessed transgression.

Oliver shook his head, "What are you doing?" he growled out, though it sounded more like a sigh than the growl he'd give pretty much anybody else. Maybe _because_ he'd expected a protest from her, been surprised it hadn't come, and then surprised all over again when it had.

"I pulled up some information on Mister Williams. Did you know he's a widowed father of a ten year old boy?" she asked as she gestured to one of her monitors, where what looked like a dating site profile was pulled up.

Oliver half shook his head before giving her a 'so what?' look, waiting for her to elaborate. Because he couldn't shoot down her doubts without more information than that. Even if he had some idea of where said doubts were without elaboration. The memory of his mother's pleas ringing out of memory again didn't help. After all, she'd claimed her children were why the vigilante shouldn't kill her, too. And that only made him more uncomfortable as the blonde he was frowning at now gazed up at him.

"I _told_ you," Felicity obligingly went on. "I'm only in this to help Walter. Not to be an accessory to orphaning little kids."

Okay, so he probably could've picked a slightly less objectionable first target to ease her into this with.

From the slight-smile Digg was wearing as he shook his head on the other side of Felicity's desk, that was more than obvious.

But The List didn't come with profiles, and Oliver had had no reason to research Ken Williams past the obvious. Definitely not to the point where he'd look at an online dating website profile... he'd probably never do that anyway, but that wasn't the point. The man's offense against the city were strictly white-collar crimes. He had no ties to organized crime. Not even a personal security force like Adam Hunt to suggest a justification for some paranoia might exist. So it was very likely that Williams' would just return the money he'd stolen, rather than risk an arrow through the heart when confronted with the city's already infamous vigilante.

"I'm just giving him a warning," Oliver assured the girl, hoping—what with how his training didn't seem to bother her before now—that that'd be enough for her.

"Has it ever occurred to you; you could do some real _good_ in the city?" Felicity asked him, her big blue eyes earnest, edged with hopeful. "Beyond just recovering people's stock portfolios and their saving accounts?"

There wasn't really much he could say to that.

Yes, Oliver still believed what he'd told Diggle about curing the cancer infecting Starling City by treating the illness itself, rather than just the symptoms. But that'd gotten a resigned eye-roll from the ex-soldier, and he knew that argument hadn't yet come up again only because he'd previously given into Digg's insistence and gone after the Royal Flush Gang after only a little prodding. And he had been shot after finally giving in and admitting his bodyguard might have a point about his own mother... something Oliver still wasn't going to think about.

It was a safe bet that Felicity wouldn't just roll her eyes as she decided to wait for another time or scenario in which she could convince him to see her side of the argument. She wasn't a soldier, wasn't used to taking orders outside of who's computer needed fixing. Nothing had prepared her to back down from an argument of right and wrong until what she saw as 'right' was acknowledged. No, she'd keep arguing till he agreed.

And Oliver knew she was right, at least to some degree.

But so was he.

That was why he stepped to the side of her chair and leaned down over her to hit the correct keys on her keyboard, waiting till he heard the audio signal of the command going through before he looked back at her, not moving from the intentionally intimidating posture as he pointed out, "You're not the only one who knows how to reboot my system."

Felicity gulped slowly as she looked up at him, but her gaze was steady. Fearless.

It bothered him, that total lack of fear. Not that he wanted her to be afraid of him, but he found it strange that she wasn't.

Women being attracted to him wasn't something new. Still, in this instance it was strange. Especially since a crush shouldn't be enough to keep her from fearing him at least a little bit. Not with the publicized body-count he—as the Hood—was racking up.

After a moment, Felicity looked down, slowly shaking her head as she said, "I made a mistake."

"Getting in my way? I don't disagree." Oliver nodded, his tone harsh from his annoyance mixing with both his adrenaline high and his confusion at not really being able to read this brilliant woman well.

" _No_." Felicity surprised him, again, by standing up. She even looked and held eye contact with him as he leaned back to avoid a collision. "Signing on with you. Even provisionally." She snapped each word out like a whip. Then she turned, snatched her coat and purse, and walked away.

Oliver turned to watch her leave, her heels clicking unhurriedly on the concrete, each _click-clack_ its own disquieting criticism.

The amused snort her departure—and possibly his reaction—got from the still half-smiling John Diggle, brought his eyes to the older man for only a moment before he could hear her stopping at the door.

Oliver almost wanted to go after her. To try to make her come back. But he knew better.

With the amount of adrenaline burning through his veins right now—and the aggravation her expected-and-unexpected attack had incited—it was all too likely that trying to talk her into coming back right now might end with him picking her up and carrying her back to her seat... Which wouldn't help here at all.

So Oliver finished getting ready even as he heard the code beep, then the door open and slam shut. He pulled his coat on while he watched her to the same outside as she walked the short distance between the door and where he made her park her car within sight of one of the two security cameras currently operational.

"You sure you want to do that, man?" Diggle asked as he watched the vigilante pull up his Hood and reach for his quiver.

Oliver waited till she was in her car, then safely driving away, before he finally picked up his bow and glanced at his friend. "This won't take long," he told him with a nod. Then he headed out to aim an arrow at a man who, widowed father or not, did deserve a visit from the Starling City Vigilante.

Ken Williams might not deserve all the aggression that was sizzling inside him right now, but as long as he did the right thing there'd be no reason for Oliver to forget his restraint.

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V._

The I.T department of _Queen Consolidated_ was almost deserted when they walked through it the next day, headed for the server room that was apparently their I.T expert's office. The number of empty desks didn't surprise John though. After all, the company wouldn't employ so many people—enough to fill every desk on the floor—if it didn't have numerous (and regular) uses for their skills.

And there were still a few people around. Like the guy who'd stuttered through an offer to help 'Mister Queen, sir,' so star-struck his eyes his eyes looked bigger than his gigantic glasses. There were the by now familiar sounds of steady typing coming from a few different directions—different cubicles—around the floor, too. And a supervisor in one of the corner offices, who'd closed his door but forgotten to draw the blinds while he was watching the ballgame.

Starling's home team, the Rocket's, against the Knights from Gotham was always a good match. But it wasn't exactly something you expected to find someone watching at work. But they weren't here to stare stupid supervisor into actually supervising—even though the man happening to turn and see Oliver Queen on his floor would probably do that, at least momentarily.

John shook his head at the sight of two employees shooting the supervisor's window disapproving looks as they went by, even as he led the way into the server room. Which was also empty when they got there. And so was Felicity's desk.

"Well," Oliver spoke into the empty room. "Maybe we should come back later."

It was almost amusing; how much the former playboy-turned castaway-turned-vigilante didn't want to talk to this woman. How much he didn't know how to argue with someone who knew who he really was. Now that he couldn't resort to either charming her—or just the fact that his name was on the building—to win any argument or override any problem, Oliver was at something of a loss.

Because he knew Felicity was right.

Just like he knew John was right.

And that was why John wasn't going to let this slide. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to bring this topic up again, and even if they couldn't convince Felicity back to her offer of helping them until Walter was found—which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing anyway—at the very least, they had to try this talk again.

"No, maybe we should wait, Oliver." John looked back at his employer-by-day, vigilante-partner-by night. "This is really serious." He resorted to an argument that'd get the vigilante to stay, despite not personally thinking it was an issue. "What if her next attack of conscience leads her right to the police?"

"Oh, she won't say anything," Oliver shot that down even as he walked closer to Felicity's empty desk. "I know. I had to make the same calculation when you found out about me."

"Uh-hum." John nodded, not particularly surprised by the other man's confidence. Even though he wasn't sure why Felicity was a bit too blasé about their nightly activities, her reaction to last night's target notwithstanding. "And what would you have done if you were wrong? And I'd decided to make a call to Detective Lance?"

"I would have put an arrow in you," the other man answered evenly.

"Ha!" John snorted, only to blink as the billionaire turned around with a serious expression on his face. "Really? You really would have done that? Really?"

Whatever Oliver's answer would've been had to be put on hold as the woman they were waiting for walked into the room, pausing between them—rather than in the open doorway as self-preservation should've demanded—to glance from one to the other.

"Hum. I had a bet going with myself on how quickly you two would visit. Tell me not to reveal your secret," Felicity commented as she walked towards her desk, closing the file she'd been reading and setting it down as she walked around to the other side. Once there, she favored them with an amused smile that looked only half sincere. "Looks like I won."

"Actually, Felicity," Oliver corrected her with the gentle tone of voice John had only heard him use on his mother or his sister, though there was some of that charm he was used to using on the genius in her habitat, too. "I was hoping that I could get you to change your mind."

Felicity watched him close the distance, but sat down in her chair even before he'd stopped on the other side of her desk. As soon as he'd finished, she tapped a key on her keyboard, which seemed to start a news story that'd been paused on her computer in her absence. Then, in a further display of confidence and authority that really seemed out of place with a mere tech-girl, the blonde simply raised her eyebrows a little as she silently gave the billionaire her deliberately divided attention.

Oliver gave the monitor a half-glance before his gaze (also deliberately) went back to the unimpressed woman. "I was worked up on adrenaline last night, and I didn't exactly put my best foot forward."

"How about you start with Ken Williams?" Felicity suggested, glancing towards the news story again as it continued to play, but looking back at Oliver a second later as she finished with no small amount of sarcasm in her tone. "Did he also get to enjoy your 'adrenaline' last night?"

"No, he returned the money that he stole just in time to put his son to bed," Oliver answered evenly.

It worked for the vigilante's argument of 'some people only need the warning.' And it got the girl to look down from her confrontational glare, adjusting her glasses even as she cocked her head towards the still playing news story.

Which Diggle was starting to suspect she'd started in their presence for some reason: beyond just not giving Oliver Queen her full focus—on principle or just to avoid any embarrassing babbles or innuendoes that might devalue her reasonable anger with the man. It wasn't just background noise, either. And wouldn't serve much use as a cover for anyone walking into the room to find them there.

No, John realized as he recognized the reporters—the Civil Dispatch crew that handled almost all of the reports on crime in Starling City. Though they'd reported on the Glades a _lot_ less before the hooded vigilante showed up. It took him a few moments, but then he recognized the ongoing story, too. It'd been circulating through Starling's media for a few days now. And, obviously, it had to be Felicity's Smoak's Royal Flush Gang.

"Like I said, Felicity," Oliver continued gently, "just a warning..." he trailed off, however, as a familiar voice came out of the playing computer speakers.

It took John a few seconds longer to recognize her, but then he didn't have Oliver's personal history or direct contact with her outside of standing on the sidelines as the not really needed bodyguard.

" _At this time, we'd like to remind the public that we are coordinating our efforts with Interpol,_ " the statement was coming from the pretty detective that'd worked the Vertigo case and has some sort of history with Queen and the club scene years back. " _As the Dodger operates primarily in Europe, and they have advised us to warn the public that he is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous._ "

"You know, I heard about this guy," John spoke up, deciding to not draw attention to the fact that Oliver's old flame—and therefore the same S.C.P.D Major Case team in charge of the Vigilante Taskforce—was working the case that'd caught Felicity's eye. After all, it was a case just as worthy of intervention as the bank-robbing family had been. "They call him the Dodger because he avoids getting his hands dirty. He uses hostages to do his stealing for him."

Oliver frowned back at him, "How?"

And John could see that the other man had made the same connection he had—that this was something Felicity thought was actually worth the vigilante's time—even as the I.T girl took the answer right out of his mouth.

"He puts these collars on them—bombs," Felicity actually mimed the act, gesturing around her neck with both hands then throwing her hands wide to indicate an explosion.

Oliver blinked at her, at first too amused to be horrified by what she was implying right away.

But John was, too, so it took him half a second to finish off more seriously. "Last year, a guy in Madrid didn't steal what the Dodger told him to," he met his employer's gaze to make sure he was realizing just how bad for Starling this guy was. "And it took his head off. Literally."

"And now the psycho's in Starling City," the I.T girl observed dryly, disapproval clear in her voice even as her eyes remained on her computer. "It's too bad his name's not in _your_ _notebook_."

John almost grinned as the girl's tone flavored her mention of Oliver's vaunted List; somehow making it sound like the all-important list of name was like a little black book, but didn't say anything as the other man spoke up seriously.

"You know, not all the people I target are on The List," Oliver met their new teammate's expectant eyes as she looked up again. "Every once in a while, I make an exception. A hostage-taking jewel thief, for example." He nodded, acknowledging her not entirely subtle suggestion, even as he paused to glance towards his bodyguard—waiting just a second to see if Diggle had any objection, which he didn't—before he went on. "So why don't you help us take him down?"

That earned a small smile from the blonde as she nodded her approval right away; with not even a second of hesitation. "Okay," she hit a key to the news again before it could move onto the next story the media thought was important.

Another keystroke somehow made the door to the room swing shut of its own accord—startling both John and Oliver, since said door hadn't looked like it could be automated in anyway. Maybe it was held open by something magnetic?

"So how do we do this?" Felicity asked them once the door had clicked shut.

Oliver looked back from the closed door with a small smile. "You can come to lunch at _Big Belly Burger_."

John almost groaned; knowing exactly why his employer had picked that particular restaurant. For some reason, the other man seemed set on getting him to ask Carly—Andy's widow and his ex-sister-in-law—out. But he also knew better than to try and object, especially when the woman they were here to win back was already innocently approving the suggestion.

Felicity had hesitated for just a moment at that, but then she nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "Twelve-thirty okay?"

"Twelve-thirty's perfect," Oliver nodded, before leading the way out of the room without a backward glance. Probably because it was really dawning on him just how neatly the tech-genius had kind-of played him.

Even though this was probably a criminal the vigilante would've agreed to go after anyway, it wouldn't surprise Diggle if this man who had so many secrets—and obviously had more than a little experience with espionage of some kind, which would indicate that he was not by himself on any island for the five years he claimed to have been—would not like the idea that this girl who seemed to lead such a normal life would be so at ease with trying to play them. No matter how open she was about it, or how high her intelligence obviously was even without the I.Q test results in her Q.C file.

But Oliver wouldn't object. Yet. He played too close to the chest for that. And he wouldn't want to risk driving her away again so soon. He'd wait for Felicity to do something similar again, maybe even a few times, before he tried to warn her off it.

Diggle hoped he wouldn't succeed.

At least not until Oliver realized both his—still fairly new—partners had a few points he should consider regarding how to save Starling City.

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

Felicity wasn't really surprised that part of her plan hadn't worked out. This would've been too easy if it had. And since when was her life ever easy?

Oh, she didn't doubt that it'd play out fine on finding out whatever the police knew about the Dodger. That was a given. The detective's phone was bugged, and even if Oliver hadn't been able to pull that off, the S.C.P.D was not hard to hack.

The part that hadn't worked was her recommending Oliver flirt with his supposed 'crush object with a badge' while he planted the tech. Because he'd planted it, and it was working; she'd listened to several near-useless conversations already.

But part of _her_ plan to have Oliver flirt, instead of sneaking into the detective's house to bug her cell while it was charging or something like that, was him hopefully ending up with a date. And, after a few of those, maybe a girlfriend. A girlfriend who was unknowingly hunting him, yes, so issues would abound, but it could've made all of this somewhat easier for her. Maybe.

Because Methos was going to be mad enough with Felicity for her having anything to do with trying to catch the mortal psycho he'd called to warn her away from. Leading to her looking the thief up on the Watcher's Database and being more than a little impressed by how much info she found therein.

The Watchers apparently investigated anyone known to kill by decapitation, so they'd found the Dodger. Winnick Norton was the real name that no law enforcement agency had yet. Like many Immortals, he'd undoubtedly had no idea he was being watched until a meeting with a known Immortal had garnered no reaction—recognition, wariness, anything—from either. Now he was only noted in the Database as a violent non-Immortal, and per the Watchers twisted code of ethics everything they had about him had never been shared with Scotland Yard, Interpol, anyone.

Which had Felicity wondering if she shouldn't leak enough of that information to see the madman caught. It was tempting—to use her 'powers' for good. Except none of that information was obtained legally, by the Watcher or by her hacking them, so even if the S.C.P.D used it to arrest him it might not hold up in court if they moved to soon. Like they had with the evidence that Oliver had created for them to 'clear him of suspicion' as the Hood. The same could be said for the Vigilante, in a way, but at least she had a little control over him.

Which brought her back to Methos, and his very pointed bringing up of 'the Vigilante' that'd started becoming news in the city she lived in... well, Felicity hadn't missed the hint. She'd just chosen to ignore it. Yet again.

It wasn't that she tended to become involved with _every_ warrior she met. Though guys of particularly superior martial skills could never be called 'common,' it wasn't all that long ago that such skills were considered a matter of course for all who could afford the time and expense of training.

But guys who were not only skilled-warriors but also on a heroic mission? Yeah, that was kind of her type.

Or at least it was before that last betrayal.

Not _every_ and _any_ mission, of course, and Felicity didn't really know enough about Oliver's crusade to know how closely he fit her type. If she didn't approve of the mission, her libido wasn't all that hard to keep in check... usually. A few of her former lovers had eventually talked her around, or she'd helped them see the error of their ways.

The circumstances had differed each time, of course. She had differed each time. And so had each man.

But that was what was already starting to happen here? Despite her insisting she was only there to help find Oliver's stepfather, he'd already talked her into accepting another case—even if it was one she'd clued him in on and she'd kind of wanted him to handle. Wanting to prove that there was more wrong with Starling City than just the uncaring rich. He'd even gotten her to all but forgive his unexplained mission.

Mostly because of what she did know; what Diggle had told her as they waited for their leader to confirm he'd planted the tech, was that the all-important 'List' was left to him by his dad. A purpose to fulfill as said father's last request. It was hard not to have compassion towards that, no matter what said purpose in need of fulfilling was. In the Age that Felicity had been born into, those circumstances would justify just about anything. Even in the 21st century, it wasn't something many people would sneer at.

Thus Felicity suggesting Oliver flirt with his 'crush object with a badge' to plant the bug, instead of just admitting she was more than capable of hacking into both Interpol and the S.C.P.D.

Perhaps she probably shouldn't be too surprised that the infamous playboy was capable of flirting with a woman without asking her out on a date. No matter how many women he'd slept with before the Island, he couldn't have slept with every pretty woman he met. Probably.

Anymore than he could really expect himself to get information out of a woman he'd probably slept with in the past by 'putting the fear of God into her' as he claimed was how he typically got information. Especially since Detective Hall wasn't a criminal. And even if she was, it was apparent that Oliver Queen had a bit of a chivalrous side. So maybe it wasn't dead.

The sound of Hall dialing her phone again drew Felicity's attention back to the program she'd left open as she continued both her fruitless research into where Walter Steele might be now, and combing through all the information she already had on the notorious jewel thief that the Hood had agreed to take down.

" _Lance,_ " a man's voice answered the call after a few rings.

And Felicity sensed more than heard Diggle and Oliver come up behind her to listen to the conversation between the two detectives; because 'Lance' could only be the lead-investigator of the S.C.P.D Major Case Squad, who was responsible for both the Dodger case and the hunt for 'the Hood.'

Also, he was the father of Sara Lance, who'd died when _The Queen's Gambit_ went down because her sister's boyfriend was cheating with her at the time. Felicity couldn't decide if that was lucky or not. The man had more reasons to hate Oliver Queen than his remaining daughter did, so he'd undoubtedly be happy to arrest him for anything—but that bias had probably had even more to do with the earlier charges being dropped than the Hood sighting or the detective's daughter defending him did... however Oliver had managed _that_.

" _Sergeant, it's Detective Hall,_ " the woman that hadn't managed to hook Oliver's interest as Felicity had hoped replied professionally. " _I have an update on the Dodger case. A body was found in an art gallery, shot point blank. There were three other men there, all rendered unconscious by a highly focused electric current to the heart._ "

" _Same M.O as the guard at the museum._ " Lance sighed. " _Got an I.D on the vic?_ "

Hall answered immediately; " _His name's Cass Derenick._ "

"Pause," Oliver ordered, waiting till Felicity complied with a keystroke before he demanded; "Who's Cass Derenick?"

Felicity didn't make any effort to hide the fact that she was more than capable of getting into the S.C.P.D's computers; she had the information he needed up on her screen only a second later. Just to see if he'd react in anyway—since the odds were they'd need her less legal technical skills as some point in the not so distant future. "Arrest, possession of stolen goods. Arrest, conspiracy. Conviction, attempted sale of stolen goods..."

Diggle spoke up as Felicity finished reading the report aloud. "This guy's a fence," the former solider sighed. "The Dodger's looking to unload the Sherwood Ruby."

"Which means he'll be in the market for a new fence. One he hasn't, you know, killed." Felicity followed along, a little surprised—though she probably shouldn't be—at how automatic it was for her.

Despite her _long_ , long history, she'd never dabbled far outside of what society-at-the time considered alright. Save for her hacking, of course, and her more ancient resistance movements... Did it count as 'illegal' when you were part of an entire nation fighting against the armies of an empire that's only right to rule the area was won by brutally cruel conquest?

Whether it did or not though, _this_ was new. And exciting even without being new. Something she should probably see a shrink about... if, you know, said shrink wouldn't want her in a straight jacket not long into their first meeting if said meeting involved any actual honesty on her part whatsoever.

"So we find the fence," Oliver's agreement forced her full attention back to the problem at hand rather than her internal (and eternal) debate about her own sanity or lack thereof. "And we find the Dodger."

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

Oliver didn't let himself shake his head as he set his bow and quiver down with a wince. His eardrums were still ringing ever so slightly from being so close to the explosive that the Dodger had thrown at him to get away.

It wasn't a grenade. The explosion wasn't right.

Grenades were meant to kill or maim as many enemies as possible. To that end, not unlike many other bombs, they were designed to explode outward—shooting shrapnel and dangerous debris every which way. There'd been no debris, no shrapnel shot towards him or hitting anything nearby. He'd checked, in the few seconds he'd had before the S.C.P.D started to come out, and he hadn't seen any substantial piece of solid metal. So the explosion was focused and power enough to completely disintegrate the collar—and probably the hostage's whole head and torso—but wouldn't do much more than knock anyone else nearby off their feet as long as they avoided being burned by the explosion itself. Small mercies.

He'd only gotten a quick glance before instinct had had him throwing himself away, but it'd looked like a thick ring of metal with blinking lights and ominous beeps warning of the imminent explosion. One of his bomb collars, most likely. So either he risked keeping spares on hand or he prepared at least one for any occasion in which he might need it.

Oliver really should've put an arrow in the guy. It would've pissed off Lance, and the entire Major Case squad (A.K.A the Vigilante Task Force), but that'd never bothered Oliver before.

What had bothered him was the thought of Felicity walking away for good... And in retrospect, he wasn't even sure his tech genius would have minded if he had ended the Dodger with an arrow. After all, she'd set his sights on the hostage-taking jewel thief.

From the looks of it, Diggle hadn't had a great night either. Before Oliver could decide to ask or not, though, the alarm system beeped as the side door's code was entered and triggered an authorized entry. Both of them glanced towards said door, watching as the third member of their team came in from the alley way.

"I heard on the news the Dodger got away," Felicity told them as she took her coat off. "Hopefully the night wasn't a complete waste?" she raised an eyebrow at Diggle.

Oliver really thought the answer to her coming question should be obvious from the other man's stance, but wasn't about to tell either of them that.

"Your date? How'd it go?"

"Awesome," Diggle replied flatly.

Felicity sighed, her shoulder's sagging with disappointment as she told him, "You suck at lying."

Deciding that was more than enough social chit-chat (since she might go back to trying to set him up with McKenna next), Oliver spoke up. "The police and I busted it up before the Dodger could get himself paid."

"Don't change the subject," the I.T expert frowned at him, though he could see amusement in her eyes.

Oliver ignored her teasing objection without any qualm, "Is your, uh, hacker chip, still working?" Despite knowing that the chip he'd planted wasn't how she was getting into the S.C.P.D's files, it wasn't worth arguing with her about, so he went with it.

Felicity sighed as she dropped into her chair. "You two are no fun." She continued after a glance at her computer. "Yup. Still getting a strong signal."

"You should pull up the police records," Oliver told her, walking closer to watch as she did so—much too promptly to be just hacking her way into them now. That was her skill set though: why she was here, so he just accepted it and moved on. "Everything the Dodger's stolen so far."

"What are you thinking?" Digg asked as he moved over to watch Felicity work, clearly more than happy to have the matchmaker's attention turned from his less than successful evening.

"We know the Dodger has a taste for a very specific type of antiquity," Oliver observed. He didn't recognize the commonality himself, but he'd bought enough jewelry (and been forced on enough tours of the vault containing the impressive Queen Family Collection) to recognize that there _was_ a specific similarity in the pieces stolen. Even if he didn't, the fact that the Dodger had his hostages steal only single pieces, even out of jewelry stores, would clue him into that fact.

"Yeah," Felicity agreed at once, folding her fingers together as she studied the images in the stolen property reports straight from not just the S.C.P.D, but Interpol, too. Which she'd brought up on her monitors with far too much ease. Further proof, again, that she wasn't even trying to hide the fact that she could. That she really hadn't needed the chip he'd planted on McKenna Hall's phone to get into the S.C.P.D's computers. "These all look like they're from the Ominous Decade."

The ex-soldier who'd attended S.F.Q.C to get into the U.S Special Forces and the billionaire that'd dropped out of half of the Ivy League colleges both blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

"The last ten years of King Ferdinand's reign," the blonde clarified with a sigh. "After he was restored to the throne and had Calomarde start suppressing the opposition? Till he finally keeled over in 1823?"

"And she says we have no lives," Diggle scoffed lightly, clearly wondering if she had an encyclopedia stored inside her head along with the genius-level I.Q.

Oliver was just relieved he wasn't the only one who drew a complete blank at both the reference and every part of the explanation. "Are there any other places that sell or display items from the... ominous thing?"

"Decade," Felicity corrected, shaking her head even as she did so. "Not really. I guess people in Starling City prefer the Elizabethan Era."

But Oliver's attention had been caught by the monitor that she'd had a program finding potential targets on. Specifically on the website it'd brought up.

"The Starling City Cancer Society." He nodded as she glanced at it then back at him. "It says right there they're holding a fundraising auction tomorrow night."

"There's nothing that's even Spanish listed here," Felicity told him, making him wonder how she knew that—but it was probably indicated right in front of him in computer code or something like that, her skill, not his.

"We could lure him out into the open," Oliver finished like she hadn't said anything, already thinking about where, exactly, he might be able to quickly acquire the right rare—and apparently antique Spanish—jewel.

"With what?" Felicity turned to frown at him, even though he could see her thinking through the problem, her brilliant brain at work behind equally brilliant blue eyes. "A fake?"

"No," Oliver nixed that at once. "The Dodger clearly has a trained eye from this sort of thing. He's not going to fall for anything less than the genuine article."

Felicity chuckled uncertainly, "Where are you going to get your hands on a rare Spanish antiquity by tomorrow night?"

"You really have no idea how rich his family is, do you?" Digg asked her before Oliver could think of a less direct way of pointing it out.

Oliver tried not to think that her surprised look came a second too late when she turned to blink at him. But he knew it did, even as he shrugged agreement at his bodyguard's statement.

To both their surprises though, Felicity shook her head a moment later. "You can't _buy_ a piece to donate," she said with a frown, her tone very unmistakably indicating she thought they were crazy for even considering it.

And that made Oliver blink at her, "Why not?"

"He really does have more than enough money, Felicity," Diggle tried to point out, not yet realizing that that wasn't the issue she had with it.

"It doesn't matter if he has more than enough money!" the I.T girl snapped, glaring at Diggle. "And _yes_ , I know the Queens are multi-billionaires, so I know Oliver Queen has more than enough money! Everyone in Starling City, at least, knows that!"

"Than what's the problem?" Oliver asked, more to direct the conversation off of his family's fortune than anything else. Even when he'd been almost nothing more than a bad-boy playboy, talking specifically about how much money he had that most people didn't hadn't been comfortable for him.

Felicity sighed, " _Oliver_ , you got a pass from the police on getting caught talking to the Count because of your sister." She shook her head. "I doubt the S.C.P.D appreciated your involvement, but there wasn't much they could do about it, other than warning you off. If that. Not when they were still worried about your family suing for your arrest getting a hit man sent after you."

"Yeah," Diggle confirmed her assessment of the prior case in one word, before pressing, "So?"

" _So_ , he's not even dating Detective Hall!" Felicity pointed out, getting blinks from both of them again.

Oliver wasn't sure how she'd gotten back to _that_ at all, but he said nothing as she sped on agitatedly.

"If he was, he might— _might_ —be able get away with saying _that's_ why he was interested in this case, but he's not! So what reason would you have—other than, you know, vigilantism—to personally investigate the Dodger enough to know how to set up a trap for him?"

Oliver could see the point she was making, but he also didn't think the police would come anywhere near him just for donating something that the Dodger ended up stealing. Whether the thief was then caught, or killed, by the Hood or not.

After a second of scowling at him, Felicity released an annoyed noise that was somewhere between a snarl and a sigh. "What was the point of getting yourself accused of being 'the Hood,' and cleared, if you're just going to keep drawing the S.C.P.D's attention back to you?"

"Why would the police care?" Diggle spoke up again, uncrossing his arms to gesture at the file she'd hacked on her monitor. "This isn't the only place that talks about pieces the Dodger's stolen, is it? Is there any reason he couldn't have found out from Google after he saw the news?"

Their hacker's sigh still sounded a lot like a snarl as she glared at the big man. "Go ahead. _Try_ Googling the Dodger; the family of the poor guy in Madrid probably doesn't need any more donations, but they'd appreciate it anyway. You might, eventually, find something about the piece he wanted stolen in Spain being from _La Década Ominosa_. Maybe. If a reporter was interested enough to actually talk to a jeweler or an art historian. Then they might include a bit about Ferdinand's last few tyrannical years for comparison or something similar. But that's about the only way someone who hasn't taken classes in art history at all, or even visited Spain, might recognize the style, I'm sure. Or—"

"Then what do _you_ think we should do?" Oliver cut her off pointedly, not really wanting to see how long she could babble so scathingly. Her ability to just keeping talking, on and on, was amusing most of the time, but when she was angry it took on a whole new edge. "You just said nowhere in Starling City has it. So we _can't_ stake somewhere out without planting the bait!"

At that the blonde's anger seemed to deflate right out of her. "I have something," she told them as she spun around in her computer chair as she finished, while they both blinked at her back. "You can just include it in whatever set you want to donate. I assume your family has some jewelry they wouldn't mind getting rid of for this sort of thing?" she gestured to the still open announcement for the auction.

"Yeah, we do," Oliver confirmed, before demanding, "But how are you going to get a 'rare Spanish antiquity?'"

"I already have one."

That made Oliver blink at her again. Though, given the fact that she'd recognized the pieces at glance, maybe he shouldn't have been too surprised.

"An _expensive_ one?" Digg asked, the doubt in his eyes only just not making it into his voice. "Cause that ruby was almost as big as my fist; the Dodger's not gonna—"

"He'll want it," the I.T girl insisted without letting him finish. When they just kept waiting for her to explain, both equally bothered by the strange turn of events, she sighed. "A lot of family heirlooms probably cost a lot less when they were bought than they do today," she told them flatly. "It's called inflation."

Oliver turned that over in his head for a few seconds, before asking, "Your mom's from Spain?"

Because 'Smoak' didn't sound Spanish.

But Oliver hadn't really researched the tech girl much beyond a quick check of her Q.C file to confirm she had no criminal record. Despite what he told Digg, he'd learned to trust his gut above all else; and it was his gut that told him he could trust John Diggle and Felicity Smoak with his dangerous secret.

Well, in Felicity's case; his gut and the smiles she'd been surprising out of him since that first time he'd seen her. Back when his face had almost forgotten how to smile. She'd been a light in the dark. She still was...

Yes, Oliver hadn't actually involved Felicity outside of poorly covered requests for odd jobs until he'd had no choice; it was either turn himself in at Q.C to get the medical help he needed or get help to get out of there. But that was because he didn't want to put her in danger. Yes, he and Digg would do everything they could to protect her; but the more involved she became with Oliver's crusade, the more at risk she'd be. It was a given.

So beyond knowing that her next of kin, her mother, lived in Las Vegas. And that Donna Smoak still worked long hours at the Cosmopolitan, and had for years, despite the considerable portion of her daughter's paycheck she received regularly. No, Oliver didn't know much about Felicity Smoak's family at all.

"No," Felicity answered flatly. "Donna Smoak was born in Las Vegas." She continued before either man could decide on another question. "And before you ask; not everyone knows exactly where every heirloom in their family comes from. Sometimes you just know that it was grama's favorite, or that granddad wore it every day until he died."

Oliver winced; while sentiment over objects wasn't something he was prone to—pre or post Island—he recognized the point she was making.

Felicity Smoak was sentimental, but she was willing to risk something with sentimental value because she believed in him... and while she'd probably forgive him if the Dodger got away with this bait, that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her.

So obviously he was not only donating the pieces, he'd also be the highest blind bid on them. A trick the Queens used occasionally, usually when one of them donated something another _didn't_ want donated, but not something he otherwise would've planned while trying to catch a notorious jewel-thief. Still, he didn't have to donate everything to be auctioned by set; then a high bid on the piece that belonged to Felicity would do.

But there wasn't much he could say to that now, so Oliver focused on the forming plan instead. "I'll need to get some pieces from the bank to donate with it. Anything in particular it should go with?"

Felicity glanced back at him, her look considering—undoubtedly remembering that he and Digg hadn't had any idea what she was talking about when she brought up the ominous-thing before—then she looked away with a shrug. "It's a necklace. Gold, with emeralds and diamonds, designed like a flower. The pendant's about this big," she showed the size with her hand, before her attention went back to typing what looked like a notice from him—from _his_ email?—offering to make a late entry into the auction the next day.

Oliver blinked at her, too thrown by the description to really pay much attention to the fact that she'd hacked his email. Mostly because he hadn't been expecting the I.T girl's family heirloom to actually be worth much, but what she'd described was exactly the sort of piece his family might decide to donate if neither his mother or sister wanted it. Though he'd have to make sure neither of them saw it; it sounded like the sort of thing Thea might actually like.

"I can have it delivered by tomorrow morning," Felicity offered. "Stop by _Starling_ _National_ on my way to work?"

Oliver nodded at that, "We have some pieces there that'll work. We can drive you in," he volunteered, remembering her car was still in the shop; because Felicity had made him promise he wouldn't put a rush on it or anything like that.

The blonde visibly debated it for a second, then sighed. "Okay."

Except then what she'd said actually clicked.

"Wait," Oliver frowned. "Where are you having it delivered from?"

"Out of state."

"It has to be here by—"

"Tomorrow, I know. I just said that, didn't I?" the blonde shook her head as she stood up and started putting her coat back on. "So I should make this call sooner, rather than later," she shot them a strained smile as she picked up her purse. "I'll see you two in the morning."

Oliver ignored the cautioning look Diggle sent him, well aware that their I.T girl was trying to not talk about this. But this had nothing to do with computers and everything to do with whether or not they could lay a successful trap for the man that'd thrown a bomb at him not too long ago and might be planning on snapping another one around someone else's neck soon. "Felicity," he gently caught her arm as she tried to step around him. "It's late. Most banks aren't going to be open, or overnighting anything, unless a lot of money's involved. I can—"

"Good thing I just need to call an old friend then," Felicity interrupted him with a sigh, tugging arm free as she finished. "It'll probably be a very long phone call, and I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

"And your 'friend' will have it here tomorrow morning?" Oliver clarified, trying not to frown as an emotion the same color as his Hood swirled in his gut. "Just like that?"

"Yes, she will," his I.T girl confirmed, then pointed towards her computers. "I sent an email telling the auction you'd meet their staff at the bank in the morning. Since the auction's tomorrow, they'll probably get back to you tonight. Okay?"

Oliver was honestly still more than a little confused. What she was saying hadn't made complete sense to him a second ago when he'd thought she might be calling some guy—maybe an ex that'd still drop everything if she asked him to. The feminine pronoun ruled that out (and he wasn't letting himself think that this female 'old friend' could still be an ex; but her interested glances at him didn't mean she didn't swing the other way, too). But this still didn't make much sense.

The only 'friends' he might think of for this sort of favor were the Bratva. And even if his I.T girl having any of those kinds of connections made sense—which it didn't—that, too, would cost her more than she made in months.

"No, Felicity—"

"Oliver," she cut him off firmly. "I will have the necklace by tomorrow morning. Promise." She shook her head sharply, her golden ponytail swishing with the motion. "When I call, first thing she's gonna say is it's been too long. So I'm probably gonna be talking to her her whole trip here, so it's a good thing she'll be flying. Because I really do want to sleep sometimes tonight. The sooner I call—"

"The sooner that''ll happen," Oliver cut in with a nod. "Fine. We'll meet you at your house then."

"Oliver, I have to work—"

"We'll be there early." He insisted. Because her house was too close to the Glades for him to be comfortable with her moving a piece that an international jewel thief would be interested in.

"Fine," Felicity sighed. "See you then. Have a good night."

"You too," Oliver returned, trying not to frown as he watched her go."

"Goodnight, Digg."

"Goodnight, Felicity."

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V._

John glanced back at the billionaire, still a little surprised to see the younger man wide awake this early. He probably shouldn't be, considering he kept almost the same hours as his employer, but somehow surprise had snuck in there with that incorrect assumption that even a never really idle rich man would have no reason to get up early when he was frequently up all night.

For the Oliver Queen of five years ago—before those five years that'd turned him into what he was now—that assumption probably would've been accurate. Back then, he was as well known for partying hard as he was for playing around. But the man that he knew wasn't that man.

And that man had told Felicity they'd be here early. So they were waiting outside her house at five of seven, because neither one of them were sure they wanted to risk waking her up or interrupting her morning routine if by 'early' she just meant before work, in which case she wouldn't even need to leave before 8:30 to reach Queen Consolidated well before 9 A.M.

"So what are you going to tell her if it won't work?" Digg finally asked.

Oliver's gaze immediately met his in the rearview mirror. "What?"

"Her necklace," John shrugged. "You think she's right and the Dodger will want it?"

Oliver sighed, "She's the one that recognized the specific type. Not sure what the draw is, but if she's right it should work."

"Oliver the Sherwood Ruby's worth, what? Least ten grand?"

"Twice that," the billionaire shrugged. "Maybe closer thirty."

John shook his head, "And you really think our I.T girl has a necklace worth that much just laying around somewhere?"

Oliver sighed, and took a sip of his coffee, before admitting, "I don't know."

John frowned, considering, then asked, "She come from money?"

"I don't know," Oliver admitted again, frowning out the window at the modest house they were parked in front of. "I didn't think so."

John finally turned around in his seat to look at him, "And here I thought you actually did your homework on both of us."

"I did." Oliver met his eyes steadily. "She doesn't have a criminal record. Her mom's a cocktail waitress." Another sip of coffee, then he admitted, "But she has a two graduate degrees and a doctorate from M.I.T."

John blinked at that. "Doctorate?"

"In computer science." Oliver nodded. "And her credit report says she doesn't owe anything." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe her dad left her money?"

"Who was he?"

"Couldn't find that." The vigilante admitted with another abrupt grimace. "No mention of him anyway; don't think he's in the picture." He paused, then added. "Last name might be Pearson, though. That's her brother's—maybe half-brother's."

"Brother, huh?" John asked with an eyebrow that the younger man ignored.

"He's a doctor, too. Works with ancient languages, I guess, over in Europe." Oliver shrugged. "Not much on him either." He shook his head. "Might be where she the necklace. From some archaeology dig?"

"Thought she said it was a family heirloom?"

"I think that was just examples," Oliver shook his head. "To emphasize it's sentimental value."

John considered that. "More or less than her computers?"

"I have no idea," Oliver admitted ignorance again, then looked at his watch and put his barely-touched coffee down. "It's after eight. Let's go."

John was trying not to smirk as he silently complied, scanning their surroundings as he got out because the habit was too trained into him not to, even when they'd been sitting here, looking around while they waited, for the last twenty minutes. He followed his employer up the brick walkway and then the front steps.

Felicity's front door opened before either of them could knock. "I was wondering when you were finally going to get up here," she greeted them with a smile, then gestured them inside. "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning," both of them returned, glancing around living space with interest.

She was clearly a morning person, but the heady aroma of coffee was still rich in the air. It was coming from the practically-sized kitchenette on the other side of her living room. Comfortable furniture dominated that space, all of it lighter colors than Digg could be entirely at ease with himself—owed to how his Mama bemoaning stains or dust showing too easily on such surfaces all through his childhood. All of the light furniture faced a closed hutch, which undoubtedly contained her television—making her one of those rare people that didn't want it mounted on a wall. On either side of that hutch were bookcases neatly packed with hardcover books, though they weren't the only ones: there was another tall, thin one by the entryway and a low one running along the size of the counter that separated living room and kitchenette. Each wall space that wasn't blocked by furniture boasted paintings of all different kinds; all of them places, though he only recognized a few of the close ones—the others he couldn't really see because none of them were that big. There were no lights on, but it didn't take his eyes too long to adjust either; the curtains were pulled closed over the windows looking out front, which they'd been able to see from outside, but from the other the windows and the sliding door to her little porch were letting early morning light flooding in through her kitchen to fill the entire area.

"Coffee?" Felicity offered them as she headed into the kitchen, already pulling out two large mugs in preparation for an affirmative.

"Sure, thanks," John found himself saying right away, because her fresh brew sure smelled a lot better than the stuff they'd picked up from Starbucks on the way over.

Oliver clearly thought so, too, because he was nodding. "Yeah, thanks."

"Cream? Milk? Sugar?" she queried as she poured, and the appealing aroma was actually stronger just from that. They answered, and moments later she brought the mugs over and pressed them into their palms.

John almost moaned when the taste touched his tongue, just as good as it smelled. "Damn, girl. You should open a coffee shop."

Felicity laughed, "I'd get bored pretty fast with that, Digg." She gestured to the living room furniture in a silent offer as she herself sat down. Then she was reaching for the ornate box on the center table.

It looked a lot like a treasure chest. Like a smaller version of the kinds you'd see in movies about gold-crazy pirates and the like. The wood wasn't worn, but the gilding that looked like real gold framing each panel in still reminded him of that.

She turned it to face them as she open it. "Here it is."

Inside wasn't big gold coins, but crushed velvet padding that made the already impressive necklace on top of it almost shine. The elegantly knotting cord of gold was almost as thick as his pinky, and the size of each sparkling flower made of gems was nothing to scoff at either, the big pendant she'd mentioned especially. The former Special Forces soldier didn't know much about jewelry, but he was still impressed; especially since their billionaire friend couldn't hide his surprise either.

"Felicity," Oliver shook his head. "How—"

"It was a gift," Felicity cut him off, closing the boxes she pushed it towards him with a sigh.

John didn't miss that she wanted the subject closed with the box, and he doubted Oliver missed it either, but the archer wasn't willing to drop it just yet.

"A gift from?"

All of her cheery morning-person outlook seemed to have vanished as Felicity shot the vigilante a scathing look. "Gee, I don't know, Oliver. Who usually would give a girl a necklace like this?"

John decided to take another long, slow sip of his delicious coffee. And then another.

Oliver's face was carefully blank, but he couldn't quite keep his tone completely neutral. "Your boyfriend?"

"Ex." Felicity corrected sharply, her face twisting oddly—with all the anger in her tone almost hidden by the pain. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. "It was a long time ago," she sighed, opening her eyes to lock gazes with the vigilante again. "It'll work, won't it?"

Oliver held her gaze for a long moment, but then nodded. "Yeah. It'll work. Thank you." He finally took a sip from his own cup—the man obviously didn't have a good sense of smell—and blinked at it. "This is good."

John decided to ignore the implication this his own honest taste hadn't told his employer that, instead taking another sip of the heavenly stuff, savoring each drop as it slid over his tongue.

Felicity laughed at that, "Why thank you."

Oliver nodded, taking another sip of coffee himself, before setting the mug back down on the nearest coaster. "He won't be a problem?"

The blonde blinked at that. "Who? The Dodger?"

"No. Your ex-boyfriend," Oliver shook his head as she winced. "This'll be on public record at the auction, Felicity. If he—"

"He's dead," she cut in, looking down into her own coffee like she wanted to hide in it.

John winced at the same time as Oliver, but took another deliberate sip while the billionaire tried to apologize.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," Felicity cut him off again, still not looking up from her coffee. "I didn't really know him anyway."

Oliver eyebrows drew together as he considered that, frowning. "What'd you mean?"

"It was a long time ago." She sighed, finally looking up from her coffee to glance at the clock at the center of her wall of little paintings. "I have to get ready for work."

Oliver clearly didn't want to let it go.

John couldn't blame him, but he didn't think anything good would come from pushing more, so he finished off his coffee with a long gulp then raised an eyebrow at the hostess. "Don't suppose I could get some to go?" he asked with a grin.

The smile Felicity returned it with was smaller than usual, but it was a smile. "Sure," she agreed, standing up to accept his empty mug. "Do you want some more, Oliver?"

John was contemplating kicking the younger man next to him as he stood up in the long pause before his answer, but finally he nodded.

"Sure," Oliver agreed, also standing. "Thank you."

Felicity headed for the kitchenette with just John's empty mug and her own, setting her the empty cup in the sink and hers on the counter before she opened a cupboard over the coffee machine and pulled out two paper to-go cups, preparing their coffees without a question or a pause.

When Oliver did open his mouth, John did finally kick him.

Shaking his head when the billionaire glanced at him, he mouthed, 'Drop it.'

Oliver stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowed, but nodded his head.

 _Knock-Knock._

The crisp, light and polite knock made them all look at the front door.

Felicity sighed, then called, "It's open, Diana."

The door opened, and a tall woman stepped inside, pausing as she saw them standing there, blue eyes studying them just as they did her.

John looked back, trying not to react to the unexpected, unhidden scrutiny. It wasn't easy. The blue eyes that were studying him and Oliver both were somehow both blatantly obvious and oddly unreadable. The sensation of being evaluated made it an effort not to automatically snap-to like he was back in boot camp. That, and the curiosity on the startlingly gorgeous face made it hard not to ask what she was thinking.

"Did you have a good run?" Felicity asked with her again smiling voice as she broke into the stare-off, coming back into the living room to hand both men their second coffees. (Well, third, but by comparison the Starbucks one didn't really count.)

Finally, the raven-haired woman came all the way in and closed the door, her eyes going to the smaller woman. "Málista, Megaleiótate," she said with a nod that looked more like a bow. "Kanei kryo semera."

A glance at Oliver told John that he hadn't understood the phrase either—so it wasn't Russian or Chinese, and John knew it wasn't Arabic.

"It is a little cold," Felicity agreed, then reminded her friend lightly, "Speak English for my friends, please, Diana."

"Oh, yes," the newcomer nodded to them. "My apologies."

"Diana, this is Oliver and Digg. Oliver, Digg, this is Diana," Felicity introduced them quickly, then went on before any of them could say anything. "I really do have to get ready for work."

John almost chuckled as he took the hint and picked the box up before making his way to the door to wait for his employer.

Oliver hesitated for a noticeably long moment even as Felicity's friend opened said door again for them. Finally, though, he sighed and also obeyed, stopping in the doorway to look back at Felicity—not even seeming to notice her friend—he asked. "We'll need to meet again before the auction. To—"

"We can meet there," Felicity shot that down. "You have my number, I'll be wearing a bluetooth, make sure you are, too." She cocked her head to the side. "Did you talk to anyone from the auction yet?"

Oliver glanced at the other woman that was just watching their conversation curiously, as silent as John was, but then looked back at Felicity with a nod. "Yeah. They called last night. We're meeting their representative at Starling National this morning."

"Good," Felicity nodded. "Then I'll see you at there."

If her friend wasn't standing there, not even pretending she wasn't watching them and listening to every word with interest, John had no doubt that Oliver would have kept at it. Would have wanted to plan more—and he'd probably prefer a plan that didn't involve Felicity being anywhere near where the Dodger was going to be tonight, which John couldn't blame him for. Though he had the sneaking suspicion that the obliviously jealous vigilante would focus just as much on the dead ex-boyfriend that'd given her a necklace that was probably worth more than the entire block her house was on. Which, if it was practicality and need-to-know directing his questions would be understandable, but the bodyguard thought it'd have a lot more to do with the realization that yes, Felicity had had a life before Oliver Queen came back from the dead and into her office.

"Farewell," Diana bid them both, with that accent that John couldn't place—though it sounded distinctly like the language Felicity apparently knew too.

"Have a nice day," John bowed his head, making himself hold her gaze even though that intense scrutiny was still there.

Oliver only nodded at the woman.

Which made the older man wonder just how many beautiful women you had to meet before that beauty wasn't something you noticed. Until he realized that there was another reason he might not be looking, and if that was a combination of a lot of character growth over the last five years and respect for the other woman that was watching them leave, John couldn't fault him at all.

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

Felicity would never be able to say what exactly possessed her. Maybe it was because she'd just been talking to Diana about how much better that world had become—rendering the obvious ways it hadn't all the more glaring. Or maybe it was a bit of madness taking hold, remnants of the personal tragedy the offered bait was innately tied to. But when she saw that man taking her necklace—their bait—out of the display case she paused only long enough to note that there was no bomb-collar around his neck. So he wasn't the Dodger's hostage; he was just another thief that was going to mess everything up.

Nonetheless, the mild-mannered I.T girl she was supposed to be in this lifetime should tell her two teammates that the tracker was moving and they had to go fetch the necklace back before their prey noticed it'd already been poached. She wasn't an Amazon—Queen or warrior—here and now, and she shouldn't be acting even a little like one. She shouldn't be confronting any criminals herself, new sidekick to the local vigilante or not. But she'd never been good at asking anyone else to risk themselves for her, and so she'd never been good at not taking personal action either.

So she stormed after him only just sedately enough to not draw any unwanted attention. "Hey!" she snapped at him, scowling as he turned around to face her with a politely surprised look fixed on his face even with the hated jewels right there in the palm of his hand. "That necklace was donated by the Queen family. If you want it, you're going to have to _bid._ " She didn't say the words all that loudly; not wanting to scare off the criminal they were after tonight.

The thief only smiled at her. "Actually, love, I thought I'd just take it." His English accent surprised her—but she didn't recognize it for the warning it was in time to dodge.

The weapon—that looked like a baton—hit her center mass, right between her breasts at her heart. It was just a tap. Barely hard enough to push her back or even knock the wind out of her. Not enough to phase anybody. _If_ it wasn't serving as the conduit for an electric jolt that made her whole body go rigid even as her Quickening quickly absorbed it.

Felicity forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to make her body move as sensation came back far faster than ever could for a mortal. That jolt would knock a mortal her size out, at least, but it couldn't make it through an Immortal's body to their brain. After all, if electric-shock was able to really harm an Immortal, they'd die every time they took another Immortal's Quickening.

But the man—the Dodger; he had to be, that electric-baton was his secondary weapon-of-choice, bomb-collars being number one—was moving before she could. He pulled something out of his pocket, then reached up around her throat.

 _'Click.'_

Felicity froze again, this time from even more unforeseen fear, as she felt the cool ring of metal locked audibly around her neck.

Apparently it'd been too much to hope for that the Dodger wouldn't have one of his bombs with him because he was out or something like that. Why he'd come himself instead of collaring a hostage if he had the collar to spare was anyone's guess.

"Well, love, my tazer's settings seem to be a bit off, but since you clearly knew what I was here for, you know who I am, and what's now around your neck," the professional criminal wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to the side of the room as he whispered in her ear. "Now, I am not an unreasonable man. You need only enjoy the auction, _without_ calling the police, and once I'm safely on my way I shall be quite happy to spare your lovely neck."

Felicity shuddered as he stroked the skin where her neck met her shoulder, just under where his collar was resting; waiting to decapitate her with an explosion that probably wouldn't hide her massive Quickening as it was unleashed from her body by the one injury it couldn't save her from.

"Now, be a good girl," the Dodger turned to take a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, and pressed it into her clammy palm. He held her terrified eyes as he forced her to raise her hand and take a sip, before going on. "Enjoy the bubbly. And soon enough we shall both be home in one piece."

Felicity flinched as the madman actually pressed a kiss to her cheek before he finally left. She stayed frozen in place, shaking in sheer terror, as she stared after his retreating form for several long seconds.

You'd think that given how many times her life had been threatened _—_ and how many times she'd _died_ —that she'd be used to this. She'd accepted challenges from headhunters with more aplomb than this.

But that was the norm that this wasn't. She hadn't expected a real risk tonight, even though she should have.

So she stayed frozen in place until he was out of the room. And she probably would've stayed there longer, if she hadn't seen Oliver's non-crush object with a badge working the room in a gorgeous purple dress.

The sight of the undercover cop had her quickly setting the unwanted champagne glass down on the nearest surface and exiting the room in search of the two men that might be able to save her from certain death. Because no matter what they'd tell her as they got her away from everyone else, the S.C.P.D probably wouldn't be able to save her life anymore than the Policía Municipal de Madrid had been able to save Sergio Medina from the Dodger last year.

"—any problems," she heard Digg saying, her ears only just picking up the words as she hurried as inconspicuously as possible through the undercover-cop-filled crowd because she was listening for either of them as hard as she was looking.

"That's a good idea," was Oliver's reply just as she finally spotted them. "I'm going to go check on the bait."

The billionaire stopped abruptly as he turned towards the auction room, because that was when he'd seen her... her, and her new, _not_ pretty, accessory around her neck.

"I-I think I have a problem," Felicity admitted shakily as she came to a stop between the two of them, one hand going up towards the device without thought as she looked up at them, glancing between both men for any sign of reassurance she could get.

Part of her quaked when all she saw was their surprised seriousness as they recognized the obvious predicament.

Then the realization that they hadn't planned for this scenario anymore than she had her moving again. It was, of course, something she'd already known, because if they'd wanted tech to save a hostage from a bomb collar they would've asked _her_ for it. Still, a part of her had hoped... and that part was left to tremble in terror as her honor alone had her moving quickly through the hallway then, looking for the way out. Away from all these innocent people...

"Felicity," Oliver caught her arm as she started away, but she yanked out of his gentle hold and kept hurrying down the crowded hallway, barely noticing all the people she was weaving through even as she heard the two men storming after her.

She'd barely rounded the corner when the billionaire was in front of her again, his longer legs easily outpacing her inconspicuous hurry in high-heels. So instead of continuing to the nearest exit she ducked around his reaching hand again and into the empty room she'd passed before her last conversation with them. Leaving the building was surely a better idea—getting the explosive device away from all the innocent people that it could get by probably collapsing the building, and that was only assuming the explosion itself (followed by her own likely very explosive Quickening) wasn't big enough to kill everyone here. But she couldn't out run the vigilante and his bodyguard-turned-sort-of-partner in high heels, so she had to let them herd her. The Immortal wasn't surprised when the Oliver and Diggle followed her into said room, the ex-soldier closing the door while the tuxedoed vigilante easily kept pace with her into the room, where he finally managed to corner her, his hand on her shoulder gentle but firm as he caught her against the wall.

"Get a-away from me!" Felicity tried to order, her words too shaky to really be called a command as she spun around and backed into the wall, trying to gesture the concerned men away. Even with her recent interactions with Diana, here and now—with a weapon that could explode at any moment around her neck—those times when issuing orders to warriors had been normal seem a very long time ago. But not long enough for her to want either of them near her when the bomb was triggered. "If this thing blows—"

" _Not_ going to happen," Oliver cut her off, the determination in his voice—like willpower alone could make it so—almost enough to make her feel better.

Almost.

But _any_ Immortal with a bomb under their chin—a bomb meant to decapitate them—would probably be just as hard to reassure as she was right now.

It didn't make Felicity feel better that if these two mortals couldn't save her tonight she'd still be avenged. That, even if the Hood didn't track the Dodger down, her teacher would. That the man who'd been her 'big brother' for nearly all of her long existence would become Death again and track the man to the ends of world. If anything, that only made her feel worse.

Diggle drew her out of thoughts of that morbid future—where her unexpected, permanent death might very well destroy her dearest friend—by coming towards her with what looked like part of a pen... how could that ever help?

Felicity swallowed, trying not to think about the probably futile attempt at saving her neck, she made herself take a deep breath and meet Oliver's eyes. "The-The Dodger said if I called the police, he'd..." she couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice as she finished; "I'm going to get _decapitated_ , aren't I?"

To think, she was one of the Immortals smart enough to _leave_ France when the revolutionaries declared the guillotine the only 'humane' means of execution for all...

Oliver held her gaze as she looked up at him, somehow radiating calm despite the ferocity she could see in his irises. "The tracker's on the move." He reminded her, his voice also forcibly calm. "If I find him, I can get him to disarm it. Talk me in. Stay calm."

"Too late," Felicity couldn't help but gasp the admission as his eyes finally left hers, going to Digg instead.

"Go, just go," the ex-soldier told him, still fiddling with the dangerous device around her neck. "Go, go, go!"

Felicity's eyes followed the tuxedo-clad vigilante as he ran from the room, even as Digg kept trying to find a flaw in a design that an uncomfortable number of experts was flawless. But as soon as the door slammed shut behind the him, she realized what he was expecting from her as he tried to save her life. And, almost without thought, she was reaching for first her phone.

She checked that the tracker app she'd created was, in fact, still active as Oliver had assumed. It was, thank God! Then she dialed his phone even as she started digging her tablet out of her purse. She'd just pulled it out when Oliver's voice came commandingly through the comm in her ear.

" _Talk to me, Felicity!_ "

It was somehow a relief to look at the working app on her tablet's larger screen. At least that part of the plan was working... sort of.

And Oliver's calm, determined voice in her ear was a reassurance all its own.

"Ahem," She glanced at the app even as she opened another app she'd prepared for her first outing into 'the field.' "Heading towards Adams and O'Neil. At the clip he's going, he's gotta be in a vehicle."

The comm beeped off immediately, making Felicity wince as she wondered just how badly Oliver was going to need to hurt a nearby bystander to quickly acquire a vehicle of his own. Because that was really the only reason he might've turned the link off just then; he didn't want her to hear that.

Oliver's voice came back only a few seconds later, " _I'm mobile. Where is he?_ "

Felicity didn't answer right away, forcibly fully focused on hacking the nearby traffic cameras that downtown Starling City was fortunately littered with because it was the only way she could keep functioning. That app was working, too. Thankfully.

" _Talk to me, Felicity!_ " the vigilante's voice was rough—whether it was more with worry or just adrenaline she couldn't say. " _Come on._ "

"First time anyone's ever been grateful for traffic cameras," Felicity muttered as she linked her hack into the tracking app and reported. "He's one block from your position. If you cut through Harris Plaza, you'll end up right behind him."

The motorcycle that immediately turned off the road to drive straight down the stairs through the plaza—rather than going a little further and cutting through the parking lot like she'd expected—told her which vehicle Oliver had snatched so quickly.

She supposed she could be glad, at least, that he probably didn't steal that big bike from a little old couple. Even if 'old' really was a very relative adjective to her.

The tracker pinged again, drawing Felicity's attention back to it. "Got it! I got him, I got him! Grey sedan, driving north." She watched as the motorcycle sped up to catch the car. "At the light ahead of you."

The Dodger turned at said light, and she immediately clarified.

"Okay, hard right."

A cacophony of honking horns and squealing tires blared through the comm as Oliver complied, but she just kept staring at the real-life chase that might very well determine how much longer she was alive.

Digg's hands had gone still on her shoulders, no longer really trying to find an exploitable flaw in the collars design since they already knew it didn't have any. He tensed and she bit her lip as they watched the car drive Oliver off the road, then saw the motorcycle speed back onto it, nearly colliding with another car in his haste, before giving chase again.

Felicity's eyes flew wide as Oliver threw something at the sedan—at its tire, maybe?—that made it swerve and crash into a parked car, before flipping onto its side and sliding just out of the camera's view, with the motorcycle slowing as it went out of sight, too.

" _Hey! Don't do anything stupid!_ " the Dodger's polished voice warned a moment later, a little rougher now than it'd been minutes ago when he'd threatened her. But he had just been in a car crash caused by the man he was now confronting, and the Hood—even if he was dressed differently—was a good bit more intimidating then an irate I.T girl in a cocktail dress could be. " _I had the foresight to collar up a particularly inquisitive blonde. I assume she's a friend of yours. Touch one hair on my head, and she loses hers._ "

The Immortal swallowed, then did something she should have done a lot sooner; deliberately stepped away from her new friend. Or tried to.

Digg's big hand on her shoulder stopped her, but it was his steady stare that kept her from really trying to get away.

She should... but then she wouldn't want to step back and watch him die either. If she had to pick one thing she hated the most about Immortality, it'd be all the times she'd come back from the dead to find that someone she cared for—or any mortal nearby—had died with her and would stay that way. That, or the times she'd been dying with them, knowing she'd come back and they wouldn't. So she tried not to hate herself for appreciating John Diggle's stubborn presence as she closed her eyes and just listened.

After a noticeable pause, the Dodger chided with an audible smirk, " _You've got quite the choice to make, don't you?_ "

" _Not this time,_ " Oliver answered evenly.

The faint whistle of a projectile weapon made her flinch.

Then her vigilante finished, " _Your median nerve's been severed. You couldn't push that button if you tried._ "

A moment later she stayed statue still as the collar started sounding off: _Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep_ — _Clank_.

"Oh, thank God," Felicity gasped, her free hand flying up to her now safe neck.

Digg snatched the dangerous device off of her before she could decide to do anything with it, and only then did he step away.

Felicity really didn't care what he was going to do with it now that it was no longer around her neck, so all her attention stayed on the banter she could still hear in her ear.

" _Why are you doing this?_ " the Dodger asked the vigilante, some of that initial polish back as he pleaded politely. " _I'm_ _ **exactly**_ _like you. I only steal from the rich._ "

Then there was the sudden sound of a scuffle and Felicity stiffened as her ears registered the now recognizable sound of the thief's secondary weapon discharging. But Oliver was speaking again before she could ask if he was alright.

" _I'm_ _ **not**_ _Robin Hood._ "

The way he said it, as approaching sirens could be heard over the comm, made Felicity wonder how many people had brought up that comparison.

But she didn't ask, instead sticking to her part in all of this and using the wide-array of traffic cameras she'd taken over to figure out an escape route. "The cops are all coming from the south, the same way you got there. If you head the other way and come back around, they won't see you."

" _Thanks,_ " not-Robin-Hood replied, before ordering, " _Digg, take her home. We're done for the night._ "

"Got it," the pseudo-bodyguard agreed, placing the hand that wasn't still holding the deactivated bomb on her upper back to guide her out of the room as soon as she'd tucked her own devices away in her barely big enough purse.

All the while wondering what place this not-quite-death would take in her nightmares. Perhaps she should've expected it though. _That_ necklace was already tainted by memories of betrayal and heartbreak in flames. How fitting that she could now relate her close encounter with a bomb collar to it, too.

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

Oliver wasn't entirely sure why he was here.

Well, he was here because he was worried.

What he really wasn't so sure about was why he was so worried.

Felicity Smoak shouldn't be anything to him, really. She wasn't a part of his life before Lian Yu, and it was only her considerable skill with computers that'd brought her into his life since his return to Starling City. Those skills weren't reason enough for him to be knocking on her door at quarter to one in the morning.

Maybe it was her sweet, sincere personality—as he'd witnessed it the first time he'd seen her; when ARGUS had brought him back to Starling City for a mission against the Triad and the nameless blonde girl working late at Q.C's had been a breath of fresh air amongst all the madness his life had become then.

And now, actually knowing her, it was even more so. With the at times tactless, babbling blonde whose name meant "happiness" was still able to bring smiles to his face with remarkable ease.

But he knocked anyway.

 _KNOCK. KNOCK._

And he somehow wasn't surprised when her door opened only a few seconds later.

Her puffy eyes weren't a shock, either, though they tugged at his heart, wherever it was hidden when he wasn't with his family.

"Hi," Felicity greeted him softly, almost too softly for him to hear from just a step away.

"Hi," Oliver replied, almost as softly, looking her up and down.

She'd changed out of the golden dress that'd turned her into a knockout. He _had_ thought she would've turned his head five years ago anyway, but seeing her in that dress had made it a definite, despite his fondness for brunettes and his somewhat steady relationship with Laurel Lance back then.

Now she was wearing a light violet tank top over pajama pants with pink and purple flowers on them. The ensemble made her adorable, and yet it somehow didn't move her in his mind to the sisterly 'female friend' category that so few women had ever made it into, even though it was probably where he should be placing the I.T girl in his mind.

And she still wasn't wearing her glasses, or squinting at him as though she couldn't see him very clearly, despite the fact that she had to have cried her contacts out judging by just how puffy her eyes were. If she was wearing contacts?

Oliver shoved all those thoughts aside, deciding to ask about the last at a later time. "Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice still soft.

Felicity shrugged silently, standing to the side to gesture him into her modest home. She didn't say anything as he walked in and looked around the brightly decorated living room that shared the space with a kitchenette, but her eyes did go to the box he placed on her coffee table.

"Your necklace," he told her before she could ask.

Felicity's eyes immediately went back to him, the box and its costly contents clearly unimportant to her. "Thank you," she answered, still soft, though loud enough now for him to hear she at least hadn't cried herself hoarse.

And as Oliver looked at her in the clearer light of the living room lamp that she'd obviously been reading from her e-reader by, he could see her eyes weren't quite as strained from crying as he' first thought. Clearly his I.T girl was a lot stronger than he could have expected, but that didn't mean this night wouldn't have been harrowing for her.

If there was anyone who wouldn't be shaken by becoming a jewel thief's hostage by a bomb around their neck, they had to be very few and far between. And more than a little crazy, which Felicity Smoak wasn't; even though she actually wanted to help him. To keep helping him... while looking for Walter, which she could do from the safety of just about any computer screen anywhere, not just the three she'd setup in his basement.

Oliver shook his head, glancing around the room as he sat down on the long couch. Then his eyes went back to her automatically, and he gestured to the returned box as he asked her, "Want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Felicity snorted. "My nearly losing my head, you mean?"

Oliver nodded, but didn't otherwise respond.

Though the emphasis on 'losing my head'—so similar to the terrified way she'd seemed to twist the word 'decapitated' into a phrase hours ago—made him wonder if it might be a peculiar phobia of hers. But it didn't really make sense. There was no reason his tech expert would be specifically particularly afraid of her head being separated from her body, any more than she might be specifically afraid of dying by gun or arrow or knife, or by any other means.

Maybe this narrowed focus was just her way of processing it? Even after the fact?

"I'm sorry," she sighed then, her shoulders sagging as she dropped onto the couch next to him, in the center seat right next to him rather than the farther spot he'd kind of expected her to choose. "I should be thanking you."

"No, you shouldn't," Oliver immediately shot that down, shaking his head when she frowned at him. "That shouldn't have happened. We shouldn't have had you in there. Digg and I—"

"Oliver," she started to interrupt, but he kept going before she could say anything more.

"—could've kept an eye on the tracker on-site. There was no reason for you to be there."

Felicity was still frowning at him as he finished, "No." She shook her head. "Leaving aside whether or not I _needed_ to be there, which I did, but that's not important now. What's important is that I _chose_ to be there, Oliver."

"You—"

"Me," she cut him off firmly. " _I chose_ to risk my neck. Because that's _my_ _choice_ to make."

Oliver raised his hands, not because he thought he was being over-protective or domineering. But because she clearly thought so, and she was reacting the way he'd expect Laurel or Thea to, not the way he'd expect his 'you can't shoot a little boy's dad' I.T girl to react. "It's your choice to help us, yes," he agreed soothingly. "But we could've had you helping remotely, from outside—"

"Outside? You mean with the S.C.P.D's support unit?" Felicity snorted, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. "You're lucky I know how to secure communication channels, Oliver, otherwise they would've recorded the whole chase—with you saying my name more than once and never once using the voice modulator you weren't wearing with your tuxedo."

He immediately nodded in agreement. "Because _that's_ what we really need you for, Felicity. Computers and communications are what Diggle and I _can't_ do. Staking out a trap and confronting a jewel-thief, though, we're both trained for."

That only seemed to irritate her more.

"I didn't think he was the Dodger," Felicity grumbled, looking away. "He wasn't wearing a collar, so I knew he wasn't a hostage. I thought he was just another thief... that just happened to pick my necklace out of the case." She grimaced. "The Dodger's never risked himself before."

"That's... true." Oliver offered, trying not to frown as he added. "But you should've just _told_ us, Felicity. Even if he'd gotten away with the necklace, the tracker was working—"

"But I thought he _wasn't_ The Dodger. And if he took the bait and he wasn't working for the Dodger, we wouldn't catch the Dodger!" the girl actually growled, then heaved a frustrated sigh as she brushed her long bangs back from her face. Which, of course, drew his eyes to her long, luscious mane again; still glinting in the lamplight like soft spun gold.

Oliver forced his eyes to meet hers instead of following the shimmering flow of her hair as she turned her gaze back to him again. "It wasn't worth risking yourself over, Felicity," he told her firmly. "Even if he got away. Even if he hadn't been our target. Even though he was. Catching him wasn't worth your life."

She pressed her lips together in a disapproving line, shaking her head adamantly again. "That's my choice to make, Oliver." Then she arched a golden eyebrow at him, clearly challenging him. "It's not like you can arrow me to keep me from risking myself, you know—it'd be kind of counter-productive. Actually, no, not kind of. It'd be completely self-defeating."

Oliver blinked at her, then frowned at the specifically wrong part. "I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity." He shook his head. "You could say you're done, right now. And I'd never hurt a hair on your head."

That got a longer, slower blink out of her, then a headshake. "Even if I made an appointment with Detective Lance?"

"You wouldn't," Oliver answered immediately, then continued honestly. "But yes; even then."

Truthfully, he couldn't imagine ever trying to hurt this woman. Anymore then he'd harm his mother or Thea or Laurel... and considering he'd only _known_ her for a few months now, and spent more time with her in the last few weeks then he had in all other meetings with her combined, that was a little unnerving.

Or maybe not. He'd known Yao Fei for less time when he'd chosen torture over turning the older man in to Fyers. If those five years had taught him anything it was that length of time and exactly what facts you knew about someone didn't determine anything. Not really. Deep down, it was just _who_ they were to you.

Felicity swallowed, then said; "Thank you, Oliver."

Oliver didn't really think not being willing to hurt her—or kill her—was something she should feel the need to thank him for, but he nodded anyway. Then he indicated the e-reader he'd set the necklace next to on the coffee table. "How long have you been reading?"

"A while," she admitted without pause, but then she was frowning on the box he'd brought her. "Are you sure I should—"

"It's yours, Felicity," Oliver insisted, studying her.

It almost seemed like she didn't really want it back.

"But the Dodger stole it. The auction must know—"

"I told them I took it out," Oliver clarified as he realized where her mind was going, he finished; "Said I couldn't risk someone else buying it because it wasn't something I was supposed to donate. Gave them a check to compensate for it. Trust me, they're more than happy with the outcome."

And yet again, she was demonstrating just how much better she was at thinking everything through then he was. As though _she_ was the one with experience involving secret identities, espionage and the like, rather than him. Or maybe she was just that much brighter than him.

The computer genius rolled her eyes. "But the cops—"

"Were probably staking out the auction because it was a possibility, not because they recognized the ominous thing and that that was the one piece from it there." He smirked at her. "I read the files you got from the S.C.P.D and Interpol; there wasn't anything about King Ferdinand noted in it. They've noticed that he has a taste for _Spanish_ jewelry, yeah, but there was more than one piece from Spain at the auction."

He didn't put any more emphasis on his observation. Not that she was able to hack both the police and Interpol with ease. Or that he knew enough about the type of bug she'd had him hide on McKenna Hall's phone to know that it only eavesdropped on phone calls. That wasn't why he was here anymore than her apparent choice to wear glasses as an accessory—like her earrings or nail polish, rather than a tool she actually needed—was.

"...Good. That's good," the I.T girl nodded slowly, then her lips twisted into a little frown again. "Is it weird that I don't think I'll want to wear anything around my neck for a while?"

"No. Not weird at all," Oliver answered easily, frowning himself as he watched her bring one hand up to rub as the back of her neck uncomfortably. "Do you want me to hang onto it?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, I'll send it back tomorrow. Or sometime next week. Just in case the police—well, just in case."

Oliver considered that for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Back with your friend? Diana, right?"

"Yes."

"Who brought it here personally, just because you asked her too."

"Um-hum."

"Pretty good friend," he commented, relaxing a little when that made some of the pain in her eyes go away.

"That's what friends do, Oliver. Help each other." There wasn't any real reproach in her tone though, then she sighed. "She wanted to come anyway. I'm a bit surprised her mother let her, but..."

"Why?" Oliver wondered aloud when she trailed off.

"They..." Felicity shook her head, finishing with a strange grin that was somewhere between a smirk and a smile. "They don't get out much." The smile fell away as quickly as it'd appeared. "At least she'll appreciate the excuse to stay longer."

"Where is she?" he asked, wondering if waiting up for her friend was another reason she wasn't asleep when he got here.

"Guest room. Sleeping."

Oliver blinked. "Not out clubbing?" he couldn't put a precise finger on the strange girl's exact age, but he'd guess early to mid twenties. Add in the 'happy to be out from the parents' thumb' and he'd expect her to be out partying till dawn. Apparently not.

Felicity snorted—it was surprisingly adorable. "I'm sure the only kind of club Diana knows is the kind you swing at someone you don't like. Though she'd probably just punch them."

Oliver absorbed that, then nodded. "She knows some self-defense?"

Other than her classical beauty and calm consideration, what's stood out the most about Felicity's friend turned courtier was that she could obviously handle herself.

"Her mom started teaching her almost as soon as she'd started walking," Felicity confirmed.

He nodded.

Like Digg he'd noticed that mixed in with the general strangeness of the girl. It was in the way she stood—proud and at ease, but always ready. Actually, she'd reminded him a lot of Shado: just a lot less world weary. Maybe even a bit naive, though they hadn't spoken enough for him to be sure of that. Weird when it was combined with her ready-for-anything bearing, but that was the impression he'd gotten. That and something about her reminded him of Felicity...

"She's a strange girl," Oliver finally tried, just to see what it turned up.

"Woman," Felicity corrected immediately.

Oliver blinked, "What?"

"She's not a child, Oliver. I know you didn't mean it that way, but it's demeaning."

"Okay," he nodded, wondering what he was missing. He hadn't missed the fact that the tall young woman had all the assets of a swimsuit model and a flawless face to match. It didn't really surprise him that Felicity didn't hold any of that against her friend—they were friends, and she didn't seem like the jealous type. Still, he tried, "She's a strange woman?"

Felicity laughed. "Not sure that's much better. But yeah, she's outside the norm. Is that a bad thing?"

"No." He knew the answered to that one right away. Because the beautiful, quirky genius sitting next to him shone so brightly that he couldn't miss her, not even from the depths of darkness he'd sunken into when _The Queens' Gambit_ went down.

The genius sighed. "I'm not sure how long she'll want to stay. Or how long her mother will let her."

"Will that be a problem?"

"No. Just remember to always be polite and treat her like an equal, not a little girl, and she shouldn't feel the need to punch you."

"Noted." Oliver raised an eyebrow. "So she's what, a super-feminist or something?"

Felicity chuckled. "You could say something like that." Her small smile was strange again, then she shook her head. "Anyway, you're probably right about the necklace. But I've asked Diana to stay to the end of the week just in case."

The billionaire shook his head, really not sure what the 'in case' her brilliant brain was contemplating now could be, but he didn't ask. "You should try to get some sleep yourself."

Felicity immediately shook her head, the hand at her throat clutching a little tighter. "I... can't." Her voice was so small, just thinking about it.

It made him regret not coming to check on her sooner. Secrets and strange house guest or not.

"Come here," Oliver told her, leaning over to wrap one arm around her without waiting for a response, gently pulling her against his side as he leaned back against her surprisingly very comfortable couch.

The blonde hesitated a long, tense moment, then leaned into him more, resting her head against his shoulder as he used his free hand to tug the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her. "You don't have to—"

"Shh," he shushed her, not wanting to talk about why he was here or what any of this meant. Talking about it would only make ignoring it once she was okay that much harder.

Still, it really surprised him that this inquisitive girl who was scared-for-her life only hours ago was actually able to relax against him, trusting him so much after their short acquaintance and this brief exchange of questions and answers, that she was actually asleep only a few minutes later.

But Oliver wasn't going to question it, deliberately choosing to close his eyes as he leaned a little further back into the couch cushions—which were thankfully just tall enough for him to not worry about the state his neck might be in come morning—and sought a few hours of sleep himself.

He was almost asleep when he heard the nearby door of Felicity's guest room creak open, and the soft padding of bare feet on the floor. The near-silent footsteps paused after only a few steps, and he could feel the stranger's gaze on them.

And even though he could clearly picture that inquisitive, somehow both innocent and wary stare, Oliver didn't let himself react to it. Waking up to talk to Felicity's friend would mean waking Felicity, and she needed to rest. And so did he. So he feigned sleeping while the strange woman studied them, wondering what exactly she was looking for but not about to ask.

Maybe it was only along minute, but it could've been hours before Diana stopped watching them. Instead of leaving after that, though, she came closer, and he heard her snag the other blanket off the back of the nearby chair a moment before she draped it over the two of them. Then she went back to bed.

Oliver still didn't open his eyes as she walked away.

Strange woman. A good friend. But strange.

Not, as Felicity had pointed out, that that was a bad thing.

* * *

 _End of_ _ **Chapter 3:**_

 _ **Real Near-Death Experience Number...what?**_

* * *

 **Originally posted on 6/6/2015. REVISED: 10/1/2015.**

 _Author's Revision Note_ _: Okay. So we're almost caught up!_

 _Not sure how much I'll change in Deadly Dances just yet - in fact, I might skip it (and the interlude) for now, seeing as the two changes I've made don't really impact it. Well, more than two changes, obviously. There's almost twice as many words. But there were only two significant changes here: one a bit more emphasis on something that was already there, and the other obviously the sort of introduction of a major character in the DC-verse. Before anyone asks: I haven't completely decided on how much of the DC-verse I'm going to involve in this crossover. But with Arrow S4 and everything else making it look like the Justice League is a very real possibility, I couldn't resist. And, to be fair, I'd mentioned the Amazons before now anyway._

 _Let me know what you think!_

* * *

 _Author's Note: It may interest my readers on_ _to know that I am posting this fanfic as an ongoing series on_ _Archive of Our Own_ _. Each chapter here (at least the longer ones) is its own story there, posted with each scene/point-of-view as a chapter, and therefore updated much more regularly. The chapters I post here will be the same, but the wait will be longer because I plan to complete each segment, and proof-read some more, before reposting here. Up to you how you want to follow it._

 _Reviews/Comments are always helpful and very much appreciated!_

 _P.S: A thousand thanks to everyone has commented:_ _Boycottlove_ _,_ _nazibah_ _,_ _AerynSun75_ _,_ _avidreader_ _,_ _fanoffic_ _,_ _sparkysmomma09_ _,_ _kay_ _,_ _respboot_ _,_ _Carly2118_ _, & __Faith-Kiamn_ _. And thanks to everyone who has kudo'd. Hope you like the rest of the series, too! :-D_


	5. Chapter 4: Deadly Dances

**Felicitas** **by Jess S**.

 _ **Chapter 4: Deadly Dances**_.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

Felicity kept typing, stubbornly ignoring the ex-soldier that was beating the training dummy just a few feet away. She'd keep this up all night, even though there really wasn't much more she could do in her search for Walter Steele—not without _something_ to look for. But immersing herself in computer work that the other two people with access to this room couldn't really understand was the easiest way to ignore them.

"Felicity," Digg turned back to her again after he'd finished yet another workout set. "Just let me teach you a few things—"

"I already said 'no,' Digg," she cut in firmly, eyes still on the screen and fingers still flying over the keyboard.

" _Why?_ " the ex-soldier finally demanded, annoyance leaking through his well chiseled patience.

"Because," Felicity stopped typing to finally look at him again. "You two have already said you aren't going to ' _let me_ help in the field,' anyway." She bit the words out with an irritated frown.

It had been over a millennium since she actually lived among any Amazon nation, but the part of her that'd embraced and fought for that way of life for longer than any mortal ever lived, took tremendous umbrage at Oliver and Diggle's recent domineering decisions. Especially since she'd thought Oliver had accepted the idea that it was her life and therefore her choice; but whatever this flirting-friends thing they had going on was going to become, it apparently gave him the right to be even more protective then Digg already was. And the ex-soldier was more than a little protective.

She understood where they were coming from. That her brush with near-death in her first mission with them had reminded the pair that she could get hurt, or even killed, while working with them. And they didn't know, couldn't know, that that would've been her _real_ death in the way that so many temporary deaths hadn't been in the past. That that was why the whole thing had shaken _her_ so much.

But she couldn't see how her 'learning' self-defense would help any of them.

Not when she was more than capable of protecting herself, much more so than her new friends could realize. Yes, she'd let herself get rusty around mortals, but that was why she'd put herself through the more than a little painful experience of admitting to her oldest friend and teacher, yet again, that she needed help in the form of further training. Which she had, of course, but she wasn't entirely sure she'd made the right call in going to him so soon after the Dodger's arrest...

Ultimately though, that was only relevant here and now because in it was the very clearly defined difference between Methos and Oliver Queen or John Diggle. There were more than a few, of course, but when it came to training it was really what was known.

Oliver and Digg might be able to teach her a few tricks she didn't know. No matter how long she'd trained and fought herself, she'd learned long ago that the truly skilled fighters of any generation could always teach you something new. But neither one could do that when they were thinking of her as someone they had to teach basic self-defense to. It'd been millennia since she'd needed _that_.

But the biggest issue they couldn't help her with she couldn't explain, even though she knew Methos had rightly recognized it a few centuries back.

Felicitas had been a warrior. You didn't run around with warlords and conquerors as lovers without becoming one, not long-term, and you certainly didn't become the reigning queen of the Amazon nation for several decades without having more than a little martial skill.

But the longer she was on this Earth, the more immoral it seemed. Over the last few centuries, every time she'd run into one of the fools that followed The Game, it took every fiber of self-preservation she had to kill them if she couldn't talk them down. Taking the heads of headhunting Immortals was horrible enough; even without their Quickening zapping everything about them into her head after the fact.

It only made the idea of hurting—let alone killing— _mortals_ , whose lives were already so short, so limited... _**so**_ much harder to stomach.

She'd done it more than once since she'd come to this self-realization. Killed mortals who needed to die because they were a threat to someone she protected; the only real justification for killing a mortal in her mind. Half the time she couldn't even bring herself to use lethal force if she was only protecting herself, not if she knew in the back of her mind that the mortal didn't know they had to take her head to kill her.

It was one reason why she'd rather like the invention of firearms, actually, and handguns even more so—most mortals who wielded them as their weapon-of-choice didn't typically carry anything for decapitating their victims, too.

But whenever a stranger had threatened someone she loved, or liked, or even just has to protect because it was the right thing to do, she'd _had_ to act.

The life blood of those mortals still weighted heavily on her heart. And not just staining her hands in her nightmares; no, centuries upon centuries of that blood meant she was drowning in it. So many mortal lives she'd decided to cut short, though sometimes it hadn't felt like she'd even had time to make that terrible decision. She had, of course. Her hands couldn't swing her sword without at least the subconscious command to do so. But it wasn't unusual for ages of training to take over in the moment.

At least when the cause was the damned Game she could justify it to herself. She'd spare a headhunter if she could, of course—to Methos' resigned disgust—but frequently once a duel with a headhunter had started it could end only one way. It was self-defense... and it was relief.

Relief. That was what nearly every Quickening she'd absorbed into herself finished with. A profound sense of relief—that it was over. So many of them, deep down, had _hated_ what they'd become, what they thought they'd had to become because they could see no other way and thus couldn't let her talk them out of the fight that'd led to their final death.

 _Some_ of them weren't relieved. The truly _evil_ ones she'd encountered—the ones with the sickeningly dark Quickenings that took days to really settle—were all rage and hate. Their very being a sort of dark chaos that she'd come to associate with exactly what evil was. But those sort of dark souls were very few and far between. Thankfully.

But Felicity had decided a very long time ago that she would always try her utmost to believe the best of everyone she could—because the alternative was unthinkable.

Methos might be able to go through eternity comfortable with the assumption that only a small handful of individuals worth knowing, if that, were born into each generation.

Felicity couldn't. She _had_ to believe that most human beings, at their core, were good. Certainly everyone had their faults, but those flaws would be balanced out by better qualities as long as you looked hard enough. Though sometimes only as long as they let you look hard enough.

Judging by her experienced with headhunters, though, she had to assume that truly evil mortals were just as rare. That far too many—many, many, many—of the short lives she'd had to cut even shorter were just people trapped on bad paths they couldn't let themselves be talked off of. Looking back on how many people she _had_ killed, even though she could say in almost every situation that she'd really _had to_ , it was a painful thought. Which embodied the painful regrets, remorse, that would always haunt her. Would always need to be pushed back into that dark abyss at the back of her mind she liked to pretend—and could pretend, most of the time—wasn't there.

But she'd only just met Oliver Queen and John Diggle. Perhaps to the children of this age a few months acquaintance and the revelation of as big a secret as Oliver's heroic aspiration should engender complete trust, but Felicity was an Immortal. An _ancient_ Immortal. In ancient times, trust sometimes took months, even years. More than lifetimes even, where some Immortals were concerned. Sometimes even more than death.

Sometimes she'd had to disappear from someone's short life without ever telling them the truth about herself. About Immortality. In the Dark Ages, when admitting to something like being unable to die might see you labeled a witch or a heretic, or both, and see you burnt at the stake while a morbid crowd gawked, she'd gone whole centuries without telling anyone she knew the truth.

So it'd be a while yet before she'd be comfortable considering telling Oliver Queen and John Diggle anything. Maybe she would, eventually. Once she knew them a lot better than she did now. But not yet.

" _That's_ what this is about?" Digg was staring at her as he brought her rapid-fire thoughts back to the present conversation in time to watch him roll his eyes. "Felicity, refusing to let us teach you any self-defense isn't going to make either of us want you out in the field."

"Maybe not," Felicity shrugged as she turned back to her computer. "But if you can 'not let me' do something just because you don't want me to, I can return the favor."

Her feelings about killing aside, though, her past had another considerable effect on her not wanting to train with Digg or Oliver. That being the very simple fact that the ex-soldier and the billionaire that became a warrior—while supposedly stuck somewhere in the South China Sea—would realize very quickly that she was _not_ untrained. That she had _prior_ _training_.

Training that no I.T girl—who grew up in Las Vegas, got a scholarship to M.I.T and the job offer at Q.C soon after her graduation—could be expected to have. Sure, she could say she took some sort of classes as a kid, she even knew some gyms in Las Vegas that offered them to kids; had even taught at a few herself. But her skill set so far exceeded those of a 'black-belt' that'd never seen a battle field... she wasn't sure so simple an explanation could cut it with her new associates. Wasn't sure she could even try to pretend to be so much less skilled then she was, less skilled enough not to make them wonder...

So she'd said 'no' to self-defense lessons. Again, and again, and again. And now again.

Digg groaned, "So, what? If we agree that you might be able to help in the field, you'll let us train you?"

"I might, maybe," Felicity replied noncommittally, flashing him a smile as she spun back around in her chair. "You'd have a much better starting point, at least. For any and every future discussion. Of anything."

The ex-soldier shook his head, chuckling slightly. "Well, I'd sleep a lot easier knowing that you can handle yourself... at least a little bit." He shrugged when she arched an eyebrow at him.

Both of them turned to glance at the stairs as door at the top of them clanged close behind the third member of their team in his Hood-gear. Which, to Felicity's disgust, still did not involve a mask in the place of his grease-paint.

Really, the man knew that _everyone_ in Starling City would recognize his face, and he thought the mere shadows provided by a _hood_ —and the scruff of the five o'clock shadow he'd shave off before ever appearing in public as Oliver Queen—would keep him safe from recognition with the help of some silly (but supposedly strategically placed) paint smears?

"How'd it go?" Diggle asked the vigilante.

Oliver shrugged as he placed his bow back in its holders. "Badly for him."

Felicity cocked her head to the side, "Who's 'him'?" she asked with a frown, not liking that there was obviously something going on that she didn't know about. Something that they didn't tell her about because she might get in the way wanting to shadow the Hood, or some equally childish idea, no doubt.

"An assassin for hire with an affinity for knives," Oliver told her, his tone slightly reassuring to her as he told her that at least they hadn't kept this a secret because this was a target she would've disapproved of. No, this went back to the more recent argument of whether she was 'allowed' to help. "His name was Guillermo Barrera," he finished as he walked towards his side of the computer station she'd set up.

Felicity winced at the past-tense, "Was?"

Not so much because of her desire to believe the best in everyone. No, she wouldn't be on-board with Oliver's mission at all if that were the case. And since the whole 'reboot my system' thing, he had made a point of pointing out to her _why_ he was going after someone... except for the times he hadn't, like tonight.

Only she probably wouldn't have argued with this one, anyway, so maybe this was just a timing thing. Or maybe it had something to do with her not being down here quite as much while the Princess of the Amazons was avoiding going home until Hippolyta finally put her foot down. Playing hostess to the princess had been enjoyable in some ways, but it'd also meant that she couldn't spend almost every moment she wasn't at work down here. So it wasn't too surprising she might've missed when the vigilante would've explained his rationale for his next target.

Not that much explaining should be required for an assassin. Yes, Felicity had met some good people who practiced that profession even if she herself never could, but the average—or even far above average—hitman that didn't confine themselves to any particular code of ethics were usually much harder to redeem in her mind.

No, that wasn't why she winced at all. Her wince had a lot to do with the _term_ 'assassin.' She would've greatly preferred if he'd said hitman. Though the fact that Oliver knew said assassin's name reassured her a little bit. At least it told her that this _probably_ wasn't a member of the League of Assassins. Probably. That was a party she didn't want a part in, at least not when she couldn't explain why the head of said League—who was really, really hard to kill—called her 'little sister' (even though she was both _his teacher_ and his elder by a _lot_ ).

"So we can't ask him about his intended target?" Digg spoke up, frowning deeply as they watched his employer and partner cross a name off the list before he turned back to face them.

"No." Oliver confirmed. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to her. "Which is why I need you to hack his phone."

Felicity frowned at the phone that'd clearly seen better days. Seeing as its owner was headed to the city morgue, that shouldn't be surprising. Still, a part of her thought cell phones were among the most magnificent inventions ever—right after personal computers—so seeing one so abused hurt her soul a little bit.

"Barrera's world class," Oliver went on before she could accept or reject the assignment. "He kills high profile targets. And whatever job he was hired for isn't finished. We need to figure out who he was here to kill, and fast. They are probably still in danger..." he cocked his head to the side, studying her reaction as he asked, "Okay?"

"Yeah," Felicity nodded, accepting the device with a small smile for the quick explanation. "Good thing I already have a program for the time-consuming part."

When he frowned, she raised both eyebrows at him.

"What? Now you don't want me to go to this too?"

Oliver blinked at her, only then looking her over from her blow-dried hair to the dark blue dress that brought out her eyes and showed off her legs almost as well as the ridiculous heels she was wearing did. "Wow. You look nice."

"Thank you," Felicity nodded cordially, still smiling in bemusement as she went on, even as she turned a little towards her computer again to plug the phone in and get the program running. "I already called the restaurant to push the reservation back and sent Tommy a text from your cell phone, but you only have, like, twenty minutes to get ready. If we're still going?"

"Tommy..." Oliver thought about that for just half-a-second, then winced. "It's Tommy's birthday."

"February 27th, just like every other year," Felicity nodded, then winced herself. "Though you didn't really have a choice about missing the last five, of course."

Oliver frowned, "I thought it was at Laurel's—and Tommy's—place?"

"I think you asking if you could bring a date made them realize that that seemed a little weird for you," Felicity told him. "They made the reservation at _Nicchi's_ for seven o'clock—eight, now."

Oliver winced, and she was pretty sure it was because of the new, and public, atmosphere rather than anything else she'd said.

"So? Are we still going? Or are you going? Or not?" Felicity focused on the computer screen as she prodded him, but she felt his gaze come back to her immediately.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Oliver confirmed quickly. "Just let me get changed." He sighed, "But we'll have to drive back to the mansion for—"

"Raisa already dropped the present off upstairs," Felicity told him. "I told her you were running late, so she drove it in. She's a really nice lady."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed, sounding only a little surprised. "Yeah, she is... Thank you, Felicity."

She turned to flash him a smile, trying to not feel too pleased with the outcome of this conversation. But it was hard when she'd been half afraid he was going to get wrapped up in Hood-stuff and decide to bail on both her and his best friend on said best friend's birthday. She was pleased to find the fears unfounded even as she could feel their other team member watching them silently as Oliver turned towards the shower and mini-locker room that'd only just been installed a few days ago.

"I'll be right out."

Felicity nodded, staying focused on her work while Oliver left; waiting for Digg to start talking again.

"So, you won't let me teach you self-defense 'cause you're mad at us, but you'll go on a date with Oliver?" the former solider asked her, keeping his tone impressively judgment-free as he walked around her desk to look over the screen at her. "You think that's really a good idea?"

"I don't know," Felicity answered the second question first and honestly, before shrugging. "And he asked me to come with him as a friend."

Digg's only response for that was a disbelieving snort.

Felicity shrugged.

She wasn't really sure, herself, where she wanted this thing with Oliver to go; but she was willing to see how it went.

And she certainly wasn't going to let John Diggle talk her out of it. Whether it was in some misguided attempt to protect them from each other (her from Oliver's sordid past and mercurial, mission-orientated moods now and Oliver from what could become a disaster their fledgling team couldn't recover from), or Digg just not wanting to have two members of their unnamed team paired off. Though she didn't really think John Diggle was that self-involved, she did think it might play at least a part in his disapproval.

And unfortunately, or fortunately depending how you looked at it, Oliver Queen did seem to be fitting more and more into the atypical mold that Methos called Felicity's 'type.' Even with all the additional complications that more intimate relationship might bring though, she'd never intentionally avoided love, and while the heartache of losing a loved one always hurt, she'd never regretted loving them.

For her, at least, there was no other way to survive eternity.

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

Oliver wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea.

That he couldn't really bail on Tommy's birthday party was obvious, despite the fact that said party was going to be very small and conservative and not any of the insane party-scenes they'd cooked up in years long prior.

But he wasn't sure why he'd thought inviting Felicity was a good plan. Not when any model or aspiring actress could've filled the role with far less complications attached to her and a little more effort on his part.

Because complications abounded here.

Tommy was his best friend, and it was his birthday, yes. That was the simplest part of the night, even with all the troubles Tommy was having lately thanks to his father.

Laurel was Tommy's current girlfriend, and Oliver's ex, whom he'd deliberately cheated on with her sister—ultimately leading to Sara's death. The realization that the island he'd washed ashore on was no paradise had cooled some of the anger his return had rekindled. But that anger, at his betrayal and at his having survived the disaster her baby sister didn't was still there.

Just like Laurel reaching out to the Hood was there, and Tommy's reaction to that hadn't been any better than her father's.

And Felicity? Where to start...

She wasn't someone any of them had known before the _Queen's Gambit_ sank. That could be both a blessing and a curse all in and of itself.

It was made more problematic by the fact that she was now involved in his less than legal activities. Truly involved; not just helping him by looking for Walter, that was something she didn't seem all that determined to stick to and ignore everything else, despite her occasional protests and arguments.

Add to all that her tendency to start babbling when she was nervous and this could be a very, very bad idea.

Never mind Oliver's interest in her. Interest he didn't want to pursue, knew he shouldn't pursue, but couldn't seem to stop himself...

"Mister Queen, welcome," the hostess greeted him with a bright smile that was probably supposed to be alluring but would've failed even if she hadn't been unprofessional enough to not even glance at his date. "Your table is right this way; the rest of your party has been waiting only a few minutes."

"Thank you," Oliver nodded nonetheless, then waited for Felicity to go first after their guide, following after her along the edge of the crowded dining room till they reached one of the more private tables that his family tended to prefer when they dined at this particular establishment. "Happy Birthday, buddy," he greeted his best friend with a smile of his own, holding out the gift bag to him as the couple already at the table rose.

"Thank you," Tommy accepted the gift with a grin. "Oh, this feels like a Chateauneauf de Pape."

"It's going to taste like one, too," Oliver assured him easily, still grinning.

"You are a true friend. Thank you," Tommy nodded again, before looking at Felicity, who'd stepped to the side when they arrived to give the hostess room to leave while the friends greeted each other.

"Ollie, hi," Laurel greeted him with an only slightly strained grin. Most of the warmth he remembered wasn't there anymore, chilled by years of hating him for betraying her and taking her sister in one fell swoop. But she was clearly trying for Tommy. Just like he was. Though there was real curiosity in her eyes as she glanced at Felicity.

"Hi, Laurel," Oliver nodded back, even as he put an arm around Felicity's waist to both draw her closer to the table and reassure her a little. "Tommy, Laurel, this is my friend, Felicity Smoak. Felicity, this is Tommy Merlyn and Laurel Lance."

"Pleased to meet you both," Felicity nodded to both of them, her wide smile both more real than the hostess's and simply more charming because she did it effortlessly.

Oliver could tell she was nervous being here.

Maybe a little bit because the last time she'd dressed up nicely to go somewhere with him—the auction just last week—she'd nearly been killed by an international jewel thief's bomb collar.

But her tense shoulders probably had a lot more to do with the fact that she was meeting Oliver's best friend and ex-girlfriend. It was obvious. And he really shouldn't be so pleased to find she was just as unwittingly invested in whatever their relationship was becoming as he was.

"Nice to meet you," Laurel smiled back, looking intrigued as she offered her hand for a polite handshake over the table as Felicity slipped into the alcove across from her and Oliver followed.

Tommy was interested too, and the realization nearly made Oliver suppress a groan.

He probably should've expected the curious looks Tommy and Laurel were both giving Felicity. If she'd been someone they'd known from the party-scene, or at least someone who obviously knew that scene, they'd have written her off as a girl he'd just invited along to avoid being the awkward third wheel at the birthday dinner of his best friend who happened to be dating his ex-girlfriend. But that wasn't who Felicity was, and although she'd dressed up nice, she didn't make any attempt to hide the fact that she _wasn't_ his arm candy of the night.

Not because she wasn't pretty enough. No, she was gorgeous. But she wasn't showing enough skin to be a model party girl that foolishly thought she might have a chance at getting her hooks into a billionaire playboy just because he'd invited her to dinner at a nice restaurant. And she wasn't some heiress his mother had brow-beaten him into meeting: her dress was tasteful and flattering, but it wasn't designer. She was all sincere smiles and bright eyes, and neither one managed to hide her nerves entirely, so the pair across from them probably couldn't figure out exactly where to put her in the many categories their minds were working through.

"So..." Laurel started as they all sat down, opening up their menus but looking over them at each other more than reading them—Laurel and Tommy trying not to look like they were studying Felicity, while the blonde did a fairly impressive job of looking unbothered by the focus. "How did you meet Ollie, Felicity?" she couldn't keep the honest curiosity out of her words, and it was in both their darted glances, too.

But his computer genius only smiled at the brunette. "I work at Q.C, in the I.T department." As soon as Felicity's lips quirked into a small grin he knew where she was going with this. "He destroyed his poor laptop."

Tommy snorted, his curious smile going back to his best friend. "What'd you do to it?"

Oliver shrugged, "Apparently they haven't made them immune to spilled lattes in the last five years."

"I sincerely doubt they'll ever make a computer that can handle what you put that poor thing through." Felicity opined, then asked, "Is the Caesar good here?"

"Yeah, it is," Laurel responded immediately, then asked, "So, what? Did he ask you out to coffee?"

She left unspoken the idea that she couldn't imagine her playboy ex-boyfriend asking an I.T girl at his family's company out. Probably both to be polite and maybe because she was starting to realize the Oliver Queen she knew, her Ollie, was five years and a million horrific experiences out of date.

"No. I helped him with his computer," the blonde replied lightly, closing her menu to set it down, apparently decided on the salad that Laurel had approved. "Then he kept coming back."

Oliver shrugged when the brunette pair couldn't hide their surprise again. Inwardly, he was once more impressed at how well the genius weaved their true history into a reasonable story with relatively few words and yet nothing to make his friends thinking she was holding anything, or pretty much everything, back. Then again, he kind of thought she'd be babbling by now.

Conversation continued in the same vein without fail as the waitress took their orders and the sommelier poured their wine—an additional bottle bought from the restaurant, of course, rather than the one Oliver had procured as his friend's birthday gift.

"A toast," Tommy declared, raising his glass as soon as all of theirs were filled, and continuing as they did the same. "To the first birthday that I have enjoyed in a long time. I got my best friend back." He nodded to Oliver, then turned to smile at Laurel. "And I have finally figured out why poets have been in business for the last few thousand years."

Laurel chuckled, smiling widely as she clicked her glass to his. "Happy Birthday, baby."

"Thank you," he finished, before meeting her lips with a chaste kiss, then turning back to them to meet their own still raised glasses. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Oliver returned in stereo with Felicity, all of them lightly clicking the glasses together before taking the requisite sip of wine.

"Oh, that is _good_ ," Tommy approved of his favorite wine.

"Good thing I got the same year," Oliver smirked, shrugging when they looked at him. "Was pretty sure that was a good one, but wine wasn't really something I thought about last few years."

"Hum," Felicity visibly considered it, somehow not made uncomfortable like Tommy and Laurel both were by the reminder. "Yeah. I don't think I could go five years without wine. Well, maybe without white wine; but not red. Or chocolate. Or computers."

Oliver deliberately laughed, both because he was amused by her babbling rescue and because he should've expected it. "I missed a lot of things, yeah." He tipped his glass across the table. "Family and friends most of all though."

"I'll drink to that," Tommy raised his glass again.

Felicity also followed right away.

And after a moment Laurel did, too. Though the sister she'd lost thanks to him was shadowing her eyes.

What Oliver wouldn't give to be able to take that particular mistake back. Sara Lance hadn't deserved to die, on the _Gambit_ or the freighter...

Felicity rescued him from his dark thoughts before they could take over, but not intentionally. No, she'd surprised him by suddenly stiffening at his side; until he glanced away from the table to see what she'd seen.

"Mister Merlyn," he nodded to his friend's father, even as said friend was attempting not to scowl. And failing.

"Oliver," the older man nodded to him, then to the two across from him. "Laurel. Tommy, I've been trying to get in touch with you."

He ignored Felicity completely, though somehow that didn't surprise Oliver at all. Thankfully the tenseness of the other couple at the table meant his own date was more concerned for them than herself. Which also didn't surprise him.

Though he did note, at the back of his mind, that the blonde hadn't relaxed yet either. It wasn't as obvious as the tenseness in the couple across from them, her veneer of politeness was just as polished as Laurel's, but unlike the brunette Felicity didn't seem to be paying Malcolm Merlyn much more intention than he was giving her. She was really the only one here who could really get away with that though...

"What are you doing here, Dad?" Tommy asked him, voice completely void of emotion and making no attempt to actually greet him, not even the nods Oliver and Laurel had managed in response to their names.

Malcolm Merlyn presented a small present in response: a box that'd been wrapped by a professional in blue paper with a white bow. "Happy Birthday, Tommy."

Tommy looked at the box, then sighed as he told the table at large, "Excuse us for a second."

"Of course," Laurel agreed right away.

Though none of them thought this surprise conversation could possibly go well. Considering the last time the elder Merlyn had met with his heir he'd said it was to get to know Laurel better, but actually had only been because he'd wanted Tommy's signature on a document to close the medical center that'd meant to much to his mother... None of them were happy watching the two Merlyn's talk several feet away.

Though just how tense Felicity still was surprised him. When Oliver glanced back at her, she seemed to be trying not to watch the arguing pair, instead she was barely letting her eyes pause on them as her eyes scanned around the room like she was looking for something else. After a long moment, she sighed and looked at their table instead, studying the clean linen table cloth while she picked up her wine and savored a sip that Laurel was quick to copy.

In years gone by, Oliver would've followed her example, too, but he rarely allowed himself alcohol these days. Insobriety wasn't something his survival instincts were often willing to risk; even at his best friend's small birthday dinner. Still he somehow couldn't shake the thought that he was missing something important.

And that feeling stayed with him, all night.

Even after Tommy came striding back to their table, forcing a happy front to hide the anger that his father's appearance had stirred; not helped later that evening when he asked for the check only to be told his father had already paid it. Even the too-big birthday cake the restaurant surprised them with hadn't made up for _that_ if the look in his friend's eyes told Oliver anything.

Felicity smiled all through dinner, seemingly better at creating small talk with everyone there then the rest of them were combined. Especially surprising since she didn't once start babbling, though a few faux pas did slip out—effectively endearing her to his friends if their charmed smiles and chuckles were any indication. She didn't do anything wrong, not once, but Oliver's gut didn't want to let her out of his sight when the evening came to a close.

But he'd asked her to go as his friend, even if everyone could see their feelings were starting to go past that. Maybe more than starting. So Oliver didn't say anything when they had the taxi drop them off at her home so she could change, and drop off the big piece of birthday cake Tommy had insisted she take, having remembered her admitted fondness for chocolate.

Something Tommy and Laurel, both chocoholics themselves, could sympathize with. Oliver had never had the same weakness, but he'd exploited it in more than a few people—Tommy, and especially Laurel, included.

Oliver didn't say anything before they crammed back into her little car to go back to the Foundry either. Didn't know what he should say; since he didn't know _what_ was _wrong_...

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V_.

John knew that the pair planned to return after the big birthday dinner, but somehow he hadn't expected them to come back quite so promptly. 'Just friends' going to dinner with friends, or not. And the tension between them when they arrived told him that they should've taken time to talk.

Felicity was no longer decked to the nines as she sat in front of her computers, speed-reading through the results that'd come up only minutes before their return. (Making the ex-soldier wonder if she'd somehow timed it, even though that seemed highly unlikely.) "Jeez, this is one paranoid assassin. Barerra's got cobalt-level encryption on his phone. It's _not_ going to be easy to break. But, code-breaker is my middle name..."

"Can you get anything off of it?" Oliver demanded as she trailed off, all the tension they'd brought back with them leaking out as a level of impatience that was a little extreme even for him.

The blonde glanced at him, but didn't otherwise react to his tone, replying calmly and matter-of-factly; "Just the last number he dialed so far."

"Which was?"

"A restaurant in China Town. A _Jade Dragon_." Their computer expert shrugged. "I guess even hired killers enjoy the city's best chow mien."

"Yeah, _Jade Dragon_ is a front for the Chinese mafia." John jumped in then, partially because he knew something relevant and because he didn't want to see the pair blow up unless it was absolutely necessary.

"The Triad?" Felicity clarified, still calm. And not sounding even a little surprised.

Then again, considering what they were researching here and why, finding their dead assassin had ties to any local organized crime shouldn't be surprising.

"Call the restaurant," Oliver ordered. "Make a reservation for two for tonight."

"We just ate," Felicity pointed out.

Oliver shrugged, "Tommy didn't eat much. He won't say no to a pu-pu platter." He pointed at the phone that her computers still seemed to be working on. "You need to decrypt that phone."

Both of them watched the vigilante hurry towards the washroom to change out of his suit and tie, neither saying anything till the door closed behind him.

Felicity spoke up then before he could decide what he wanted to say, "I'm kind of in the mood for Chinese now."

"What, you didn't eat at the expensive restaurant either?" John smirked in amusement that was only half-real. "Must've been a pretty bad party."

The blonde shrugged even as she started typing away, doing whatever it was that needed doing to crack the 'cobalt-level encryption' on the Spanish assassin's phone. "Mister Merlyn dropped by pretty early on, and Tommy was pretty upset after that."

"So that's why Oliver's wound up," John nodded, though it didn't look like that could be it to him. Not when there were way too many other potential problems tied up in the pair of them going to dinner with Tommy Merlyn and Laurel Lance. "What about you?"

Felicity actually stopped typing to look at him, several programs working on the monitors behind her even without her input. "What about me?"

"You're wound just as tightly as he is." John held her gaze till she looked away, turning back to her computer yet again.

"No. I'm fine," Felicity shrugged again. "Dinner was just a little... tense."

That was true. And that tension was still there, in her shoulders and Oliver's before he'd hurried to get ready to head back out to find his friend for a late night snack to cover his entry into the restaurant.

But it wasn't the whole story.

So John just waited for her to go on; knowing from how she tended to babble under pressure that something had to come eventually.

The washroom door reopened first, and both of the watched their fearless leader reemerge only to head straight for the stairs as he issued more orders. "I'll be at the restaurant with Tommy. Call me if you get anything."

John saw the hacker's slight frown at the last part, which he supposed he could understand her taking it as an insult. Still, he kept waiting.

After the upstairs door beeped open, closed, and then beeped again as the security system reengaged, Felicity finally sighed. "I don't know why he's mad at me," she shook her head. "I don't know, maybe it was introducing me to his besty and his ex?" She considered that, even as her fingerings kept blurring over the keyboard and her eyes stayed on the monitor. "He seemed fine, at first, even when they were being nosy. But after Mister Merlyn showed up... I don't know. I guess it's one more secret, isn't it?"

Maybe that was it. But that was particularly fair to her. Or him. Or even Oliver.

So clearly this was something he was going to have to talk to the archer about at some point... because their last conversation along these lines went _so_ well.

XXX.

* * *

WARNING: Some violence in this scene & focused mention of slight bloodshed & angst.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

Felicity grimaced as the distinctive sensation of her Quickening recognizing another active Quickening was triggered.

Again.

Whenever she lived in larger cities, particularly with travel being so very easy these days, the likelihood of encountering other Immortals always increased. But avoiding them wasn't always impossible, it was just harder when circumstances made leaving town for at least a few days not possible.

And, unfortunately, whoever this was wasn't going to leave her be like she'd hoped.

That was why she'd stopped looking for him at the restaurant; avoiding eye-contact and instead suffering the continued buzz till she and Oliver had finally left. It'd meant she couldn't really tell if Laurel Lance was right about the salad being any good—even the taste of chocolate cake couldn't compete with the warning Buzz in her brain's unstopping prioritization. But it also meant no recognition. No way for another Immortal to know that the blonde sitting with Oliver Queen was the one they were sensing.

Whoever they were, all they knew was that there was another Immortal among the popular new restaurant's many patrons, with too many people coming and going even as they left for even the most observant headhunter to be sure without the instinctive eye-contact that only the most disciplined could avoid making automatically. Because instinct said knowing the threat was the first step to fighting it, but even Methos thought it was better to avoid the fight if possible. No matter how good you were, even a newbie could get lucky. Regrettably, that hadn't been enough.

So he was a headhunter. Joy.

 _Just_ what she needed so soon after becoming involved—temporarily, partially, or otherwise—with Oliver Queen's chosen path.

Even worse, a determined headhunter. He could have just stayed in town for a while, kept visiting public places to see if she hadn't run away and eventually challenged her at one of them. It would've taken him a while, since she'd deliberately never given herself away by back at the restaurant, but it's what most headhunters would normally do. Instead, in order to be this close to her—seeing as she was hidden under a not-yet-open nightclub located in what everyone recognized as the bad part of town—he'd probably been searching the city for her via the Buzz for the last several hours. Nothing else could've brought them so near now—not while she was relatively hidden in an area of the city he'd have no real reason to be in. Especially so late at night...

Not when Felicity's habitual suppression of her own Quickening meant he wouldn't have been able to sense her from afar. Or vice versa, but it was usually a worthwhile trade.

Fortunately, if she wanted to look for a bright side there actually was one. At least he'd found her. Rather than the barely-there-Buzz of the Pre-Immortal that Felicity now knew lived in Starling too.

Less fortunately? That was yet another reason she couldn't just leave town for a few days. Regardless of what was or wasn't going on in her life—and Starling City in general—right now.

A determined headhunter wouldn't necessarily leave a Pre-Immortal alone. If the Game was all that mattered, taking out the competition before they _were_ actual competition was something some did do. Most had more honor than that, but the few that didn't weren't few enough for it to be at all certain.

So she had to fight him.

An unfortunate realization in and of itself... not made any easier by her being where she was right now. If he'd found her _after_ or even _as_ she went home... well, it would've been just a little easier. Because she was nowhere near ready to reveal her Immortality to this pair, no matter how much she already liked them.

Felicity glanced up at where Oliver was moving up the salmon ladder yet again; he had been up there—well, up and down, again and again—ever since he returned from the _Jade Dragon_ with the news that the hit was tomorrow night; it was very distracting because it was hard not to stare. It'd been a long time since she found watching a man—even an incredibly attractive man—overly distracting, but Oliver Queen had managed it. More than once. In the last few minutes... and she was staring again, wasn't she?

"Find something?" Oliver asked her just as she glanced at the training dummy that Digg was beating up, before grunting as he made the next jump.

Felicity fought the urge to smile as she realized he was letting her show off, like he'd been and still was. Unfortunately she couldn't deliver yet... but maybe she could with the program she'd been fiddling with back at her apartment.

And maybe she could get rid of the other Immortal before he did something she'd _want_ to kill him for. Whether that meant agreeing to meet him later, going somewhere with him now or just scaring him off... she didn't particularly care.

It wasn't the role she was playing in this life. But just because Felicity Smoak was entirely invested in everything technology had to offer now, as her life-calling of the moment, didn't mean she'd forgotten who she'd been before.

She hadn't forgotten what Methos or dozens of other warriors had taught her. What more than a few wars had forged out of her—and a consciously uncounted number of past duels—had beaten into her. Never mind the electrifying, painful moments that'd followed too many of those duels. Though winning and thereby not losing your head was something she shouldn't regret... something she'd had to be reminded of more than once.

"No," Felicity forced herself to answer calmly, even as she finished setting up another automatic program to keep working on the phone—just in case she didn't come back. "But I'm working on something at home that might help. I'm gonna go get it, and—"

"Can't you just type it here?" Digg interrupted, sounding a little uncertain as he turned to face her.

Understandably, since computers weren't something either of them had a knack for, but both of them were paying a little too much attention to her now.

Oliver had dropped down from his extreme exercises up by the ceiling to pay complete attention to her as she finished starting the program and stood up. He'd started exercising a while ago; when he realized his watching over her working wasn't helping either of them.

After all, he likely didn't understand what she was doing when she was flipping between various screens of codes and algorithms, searching for the right way around the dead assassin's expensive and unfortunately state-of-the-art encryption. The modern warrior wasn't any less impressive while he was beating up his training dummy or climbing the 'salmon ladder' (an invention she'd really never imagined enjoying half so much as she was these days), but with his focus elsewhere it felt a little less like she had a lion caged behind her fighting the urge to pace, ever ready to attack.

Not that he'd attack her, of course. And it'd be worse if he reminded her of a tiger; she'd never actually been killed by a lion.

...And she really shouldn't be thinking about past deaths when she might be fighting a duel in the very near future.

"No," Felicity answered with a sigh and a smile that hopefully didn't look forced. Just like she hoped none of the nerves she was feeling were visible to either of the very observant men.

Just because she knew there were few people out there she couldn't beat in a fight didn't mean she was comfortable going looking for a stranger she knew nothing about.

Methos would hate it. He'd taught her better. As had many of the more temporary (mostly mortal) mentors who'd followed him.

She _should_ observe her opponent. She _should_ use everything at her disposal to discover more about him—and in this day and age, what with computers, the internet and everything else: that was a lot. But she couldn't take the risk that her hesitation might mean an innocent man's murder.

"Why not?" Oliver wanted to know, and Felicity winced as she realized she'd been thinking too long in response to a question she should've answered much more quickly and without any reason to seem nervous about it.

She _was_ nervous, and both men knew it.

She's be nervous, even if the Buzz didn't automatically trigger that adrenaline rush; that fight-or-flight response that was always especially poignant before a duel with another Immortal. Because she was sensible. She knew that no matter how many millennia experience she'd had, there was still always the chance that the next Immortal she faced, in this case the headhunter lurking outside, might be better than her. Or just luckier. Either way, she'd end up dead. _Dead_ dead; as in not coming back.

Felicity hated to think how Oliver and Diggle would react to _that_ ; finding her headless, scorched body at the scene of destruction her death would leave behind.

And right next to what used to be a steel factory, with plenty of metal still all around because the construction crews could make use of it, a Quickening like hers unleashed would have to be a monstrous thing.

Still, Felicity forced herself to take a deep breath and then smile at the man that she knew she was already falling in love with, shaking her head as amusedly as she could manage. "It's not that simple. Programs are code, yeah, but some codes are very, very complex; hours, even days, of work. I could sit here and put it together—but it'd be a lot faster if I just drove home to get it. I'll be back in an hour or so, whereas if I stay we might get into the phone next week." She shrugged and hurried on when both men frowned at her. "Or in a few hours, maybe I'm over-estimating the level of encryption an international assassin would have on the phone they do business with?"

"Probably not," Oliver allowed, nodding in what appeared to be understanding; though he was still watching her closely. "I'll just grab a shirt and—"

"No!" Felicity said quickly, only just able to keep the jolt of panic from showing on her face or leaking into her voice as he stared at her. "I-I mean... No, I have my car here and I can drive to my house and back, Oliver."

It surprised her just a little that he'd hesitate on this. That he'd try to make the offer—that was all but a demand—to start with at all.

But maybe it shouldn't. Maybe it should show her that; as observers went, Oliver Queen was a much keener one than he pretended to be. ...Duh. What she knew of the vigilante's usual modus operandi had shown her that.

She might have to think about telling him the truth—or leaving him—a lot sooner than she'd first thought.

"Okay," Oliver finally nodded, but he was still frowning. "Anything we can do while you're gone?"

"Ring me if this program finds something before I get back," Felicity shrugged as she turned towards the stairs, sliding her purse over one shoulder as she started walking.

"And how do we know if it does?" Digg called after her.

Rolling her eyes was even easier this time; "It'll beep and a screen will open showing you what it's found. Just like the other one did."

Whether they'd understand what said screens were telling them if that happened was another matter entirely, but that wasn't what Oliver referenced next.

"Wait."

Felicity stopped at the base of the stairs that led up into the almost complete club, trying not to wince as the Buzz intensified while she fumbled with putting her coat on, focusing on putting her arms through each sleeve with exaggerated slowness rather than looking at either of the two too observant men that were watching her. "What?"

"It's late," Oliver told her, gesturing towards the clock she'd put up on the wall just last week; where they could see it from all around the room, because the results of Oliver's workouts were as wonderful as watching said workouts themselves but losing track of time could be a bad thing from time to time. "You should get some rest. I'll call your supervisor in the morning, tell him you're working here for the day, okay?"

Felicity blinked at him, and the smile she forced on her face was sincere even though the Buzz was doing that irritating spinning sensation that told her the headhunter was basically circling the building now; zeroing in exactly where she was hiding. "Are you sure? You said it's happening—"

"Tomorrow night," Oliver nodded. "But not sleeping now won't help us find out anything faster in this case, right?"

Felicity hesitating, biting her lip again. (And blinking rapidly because of the Buzz. Really, she _hated_ when headhunters did the circling thing, mostly because of the spiny-sensation it caused between her eardrums. She'd be bothered by that even if it didn't also generate the idea that she was being stalked like prey. Though that irritated her, too.) After a second's thought, she offered, "But I could bring my program back—"

"You should get some sleep, Felicity," Diggle interjected, too.

She had to smile at that. "Okay."

She already knew that both Oliver Queen and John Diggle were good men, of course, but it was nice to see that they could be good friends, too. Whatever else they were in the days ahead.

"We'll pick you up at eight tomorrow, then," Oliver decided, holding her gaze when her smile fell into a frown.

"Oliver, I can drive my—"

"Why?" he cut in, raising one eyebrow with the question. "We're all coming in, anyway. And we drive by your house on the way in from the Mansion."

But he wasn't offering to save money on gas or anything like that. He was insisting because he didn't like her leaving on her own now. Probably because he was remembering that while he wasn't talking to her when he'd been crammed into the passenger's seat of her car, he'd forgotten to make her park in the alley where one of the two functioning security cameras could see her. Lucky for her right now, but she wouldn't be surprised if he tried to follow her out as a result, no matter what she said.

Considering where they were located and the violence he sought out around here on a regular basis, Felicity could understand his caution, despite the sheer inconvenience it could represent. But even if she was just going to be their tech girl she didn't want to be coddled. And she _really_ didn't want to be cosseted this early on when there was still a chance they might soon start really dating. The chemistry was there, so it was likely. As she'd already recognized more than once, Oliver Queen was her 'type,' and unfortunately most of the men she fell for tended to end up driving her crazy with their over-protectiveness. It tended to be sweet at first, but it could become very annoying, especially if she made the mistake of allowing it too much early on. Again.

Felicity shook her head slowly, "I can be here at eight—"

"Felicity, it's almost one now," Oliver cut her off, his tone a little more commanding than persuasive. "It'll be around two before you fall asleep—later if you don't stop working when you get home."

Which Felicity truthfully might do if she was able to avoid this duel. If she had to take a Quickening she probably wouldn't be able to concentrate for more than a few hours (or sleep peacefully either), but she'd talked headhunters down before. It could happen again.

"And it makes more sense for me to pick you up and bring you in, Felicity." Digg spoke up then. "Oliver's opening the club, no one thinks anything of him being here. Even if anyone asked the construction teams what he's doing all day, they wouldn't answer. None of them have any idea what's down here, or that here's where he disappears to most of time. But you being spotted here too often before the club opens—"

"Could be bad," Felicity sighed, then nodded her agreement. Because her agitation would only increased the longer the headhunter was circling her, and the greater it grew the harder it'd be to hide. "Okay, okay. I'll see you guys in the morning then."

When she turned this time they didn't stop her, so she climbed the stairs, and she very pointedly didn't let herself stop or look back at all. Not just because she could feel both men watching her leave, but because she couldn't be entirely sure she didn't look at least a little terrified.

She was almost certainly going to fight tonight. And not matter how much more experience she might have than this headhunter, there was still an all too real chance she could still lose. She could die. And stay dead. Forever more.

No matter how many times Felicity had had to recognize that fact, it never got easier. So letting Oliver or Digg see her face as she left would probably be beyond _bad_.

Once she'd exited the door into the still under construction club and heard the locks slide back home behind her, Felicity glanced at the second of the still working cameras, then turned her back to it as she hit a much longer code into the keypad. It beeped it's acceptance a moment later, and then she forced herself to just walk away, towards the nearby exit that she'd parked near several hours ago. While it might cause some arguments later, that temporary reset she'd just triggered would keep Oliver and Digg downstairs for at least fifteen minutes. It'd been a long time since any duel she'd fought had last even half that, and if she kept the headhunter talking that long and either, or both, of the angry boys stormed out after her, the duel wouldn't be happening tonight as a result. As long as they didn't storm out while swords were swinging, she could handle any complaints they had about the reset that Oliver's easy system reboot wouldn't work around.

The Buzz built up more and more with each step towards the exit, telling Felicity that she was walking closer to the other Immortal as she neared the door that would eventually be the employee-only entrance to the new club.

When the club did open there would be a functioning security camera out there, too, as well as more than a few places around the club—who's owner cared a lot more about security than he did about anyone feeling uncomfortable in front of cameras. She knew none of that was completely ready yet, though, because Oliver was having her install said system, both to protect his lair and the club. And despite what he'd told her so-called supervisor at Q.C, that system couldn't be finalized and functioning a week ago anymore than it could be right now. It wouldn't be until the cameras were installed _and_ electricians finished the wiring to power the whole system. She'd take on upgrading and running diagnostics then, but it wasn't something she was going to run around the club installing and wiring herself. Not when the billionaire _was_ paying people to put that sort of stuff together and there was no reason for her to bother with it outside of the basement.

Felicity rounded the corner that she knew was completely out of sight of the camera even if Oliver did know how to make it move from where it was angled right at the door. Then she stopped, briefly, to actually get ready go outside.

First, taking her glasses off and tuck them into the case in her coat pocket, both so they might survive the coming duel, but also in case there was a watcher out there. It was the second option that had her pulling a hat out of another coat pocket, a ski cap she could tuck her hair up into and pull down to hide every blonde strand. She'd never wear it like this for any other reason; but with her dark coat hiding her colorful clothes, her bright hair hidden and her glasses gone, it should be much harder for any Watcher to recognize her if they saw her again after tonight. Last, she shifted a wall-panel by the door, in this section of the club that was just about done so no one else should need to look behind the wall, and took out the spare sword she'd hidden there. Then, finally ready, she made herself walk outside.

Felicity only had to go a few steps clear of the club door, just out of the direct light cast by the nearest streetlight (since outdoor lights were another thing that hadn't been installed yet either). By the time it'd closed the other Immortal had come around the corner of the building he'd been circling till now.

He was as tall as Digg, but more wiry than muscular—a swordsman, not a weightlifter—came closer, stopping just a few steps away. "I am Mathis Fournier," he introduced himself in greeting as he drew his sword from the inner-sheath of his out-of-fashion but his practical long coat.

Such abrupt greetings were a shortening of formalities that'd seemed to become common in The Game over the last few centuries. Perhaps because small-talk might lead to them realizing their Game was idiotic?

"Felicitas Carthaginis," she replied evenly, keeping her voice too soft for anyone other than him to hear.

She didn't see anyone else nearby, but the Watchers could be more than a little sneaky, so she'd stick to the shadows as much as possible. She always did—at least since her mentor had warned her of the mortal organization's existence, back when he discovered them himself; now over a millennium prior.

It was always somewhat gratifying, when the younger Immortals' recognized the significance of her name. And he did; his frown told her that much.

Whether the headhunter recognized that her claimed 'surname' meant 'of Carthage' or not, her name was undeniably an ancient one. Not at all spoken the way one might hear in Spain or France or Rome these days, versus days of old. And Mathis Fournier was either old enough or educated enough to recognize that.

His name and accent told her he was from southern France. He was too comfortable with his surname, French for 'Baker,' to have been born before profession became a more important distinction among commoners than their origins. Mathis wasn't a popular first name too far back, perhaps he was raised before either of the World Wars tore Europe apart, but not by much. Even if his names and accent didn't tell her that, though, his Quickening would; he was too determined a headhunter to have not taken at least a few heads a year in his immoral mission, but his was still only powerful enough to trace back a few centuries at most. Therefore, it wasn't likely he'd made it to even his first century yet.

So young...

Felicity finally spoke when he started towards her with his sword raised. " _ **You don't have to do this,**_ " she told him, speaking French both because it'd be less likely anyone else that happened upon them would and it might just make him pause a moment longer than English or any other language would.

She didn't move into a ready stance herself. Not yet. The moment she did the duel would begin and there'd be no more chance of talking him down.

Fournier hesitated again, ever so briefly, at her use of his native tongue. Then he shook his head and answered in his mother tongue as well. "Il ne peut y avoir qu'un seul..."

French for that saying that some adrenaline junkie had declared before even Felicitas came into being. 'There can be only one...'

Felicity sighed, finally sliding her purse off her shoulder and dropping it to the ground as she raising her own blade. " _ **If you insist.**_ "

She couldn't afford to draw the fight out, to keep trying to talk him down.

Couldn't run the risk that he might have a Watcher on his tail and they might catch up soon.

Or, worse, take the chance that Oliver or Diggle might stop taking out their frustration on their bodies and come outside—she'd only given herself fifteen minutes after all, and if they'd noticed what she'd done that'd be all she'd have. And whether Oliver came out as the Hood or himself would be irrelevant in the scheme of things. They'd try to intervene; and she couldn't allow that. Then they'd be a liability, and explanations shouted around swinging swords wouldn't make them any less so.

And not taking the first chance to end the fight was never wise, anyway; not when it was a courtesy your opponent wouldn't pay you. Something that essentially defined headhunters and the ostensible 'rules' of The Game.

So, just over a minute later, Felicity ended the fight—seizing the first opening she saw, disarming him in an eye-rollingly easy move before she held the tip of her sword under his chin.

Fournier nearly nicked his Adam's apple on the edge of her blade by swallowing, but he told her, "Finissez _,_ " even as a trail of blood trickled down his throat. "Finish it."

"Pourquoi?" Felicity tried to reason with him one more time, still tensed for a decapitating—or, at least, incapacitating—swing in case he was one of the ones obsessive enough to think he could still win with his sword halfway across the parking lot. " _ **Why can't you just go live your life? Enjoy all the world has to offer?**_ "

The younger Immortal blinked at her, looking incredulous, then asked, " _ **You would let me go?**_ "

The edge of his collar was stained now; probably bright red under light, but just a dark, almost invisible stain now. Almost. He didn't seem to notice it. She couldn't not.

"Oui." Felicity insisted, making herself to meet his incredulous gaze when she realized her eyes had gone down to that trail on his throat again. " _ **If I believed you'd give up The Game for the fool's errand it is.**_ "

"La course de fou?" he blinked at her, then shook his head carefully, maybe mindful of the blade still next to his throat even though he didn't seem to notice the blood. " _ **It is**_ _ **why**_ _ **we exist.**_ "

" _ **I can't believe that,**_ " Felicity told him firmly. " _ **I don't. And neither should you.**_ " She sighed, shaking her own head as she tried to make him understand, still hurrying for so many reasons. " _ **You can live forever, Mathis Fournier.**_ Toujours. _**See everything that will happen as humanity learns and grows. You don't need to murder other Immortals. You don't need to lose your head when you meet someone who's wielded a sword far longer than you.**_ " She cocked her head to the side. " _ **Do you?**_ "

Another careful swallow, an even more careful headshake. "No? No, mademoiselle."

" _ **Then go.**_ " Felicity finally lowered her sword and took a step back, giving herself plenty of space to react in case he was yet foolish enough to try and overpower her while disarmed. " _ **Leave Starling City, and find a life outside of The Game.**_ "

He turned towards his sword, still on the pavement halfway across the parking lot in the opposite direction from her mini-cooper and its recently replaced interior.

Felicity waited, silently standing there, until he picked the weapon up. "Monsieur Fournier."

He turned back to her, still looking a little lost, and a little nervous after she'd proved herself so much his superior. He likely wasn't even sure what'd happened, she'd disarmed him so quickly, so easily. But experience almost always played through.

Almost always.

"Oui, mademoiselle?" he answered apprehensively.

" _ **Do not come to me for The Game again.**_ " Felicity warned him, each word coming easily after having been said so many times before. Even if it was rarely in French, it wasn't always in English either. " _ **I never make the same mistake twice. If you do, you will not survive that challenge.**_ "

"Oui, mademoiselle." The Frenchman bowed to her, before he tucked his sword away, the turned and walked quickly away from the lot. "Merci."

Felicity watching him go for a moment, took a deep breath, let it out, and then headed for her car.

She had a computer program to find, despite not needing to bring it back here herself tonight... and maybe if she wasn't here when Oliver and maybe Digg were able to follow her, probably about ten more minutes from now, they'd cool down overnight and yell a lot less in the morning than they might her and now.

Once inside her mini-cooper, though, Felicity locked the doors and just stopped. She sat there, breathing deliberately; deep, slow breaths meant to let the energy that was still pent up inside her taper off. At least a little.

It was just adrenaline. She hadn't even needed to draw from her Quickening at all. She might have, if the fight lasted longer. In a fight, a woman had to depend on speed, agility and timing much more than physical strength, especially if she was fighting a man, even though one's Quickening could even physical might out.

But just adrenaline-rush or not, she knew it would take hours for the tension to wear off. Knew she probably wouldn't sleep tonight. Even if she did, it might take a few more days for the lingering stress—the relief, the fear, everything—to wear off.

Nonetheless, Felicity kept up that meditative breathing for a solid minute, while she cleaned off the secondary blade she'd have to bring back into the club when she return. She didn't re-sheath it before setting it on the passenger's seat, just on the off-chance that the other Immortal might actually come back. She didn't think he would, but he could.

She would also need to find a better hiding place for said sword before the club opened; as it looked like she'd be spending a lot of time in the Hood Cave, a situation like this could very well happen again.

Particularly with Oliver's night club opening soon. Sure, if another headhunter came to the club she could just hide down by her computers till they left... but they might wait for her outside, or start looking around, or mistake the Buzz of her Quickening, controlled or not, as that of the Pre-Immortal they might also run into upstairs.

Any of those happenings would be bad, so she'd have to be ready. Her hiding place in the wall by the soon-to-be employee exit wasn't bad, but it could be better. And she'd rather have more spares stored nearby, just in case, anyway.

Now, though, she needed to go home, find the program to bring in tomorrow morning, and try to sleep.

Felicity could be glad, at least, that she didn't have to come back in right away. Her orders to get some sleep would have to come after she tended to the wound that wasn't severe enough automatically to trigger her Quickening; not severe enough for her to spend much time focusing her Quickening either.

But at least Oliver and Digg's concern worked to her advantage here, in that she would get some sleep and a change of clothes wouldn't seem strange. As long as neither one decided to follow her home to make sure she got there—or at least as long as they didn't insist on speaking to her before she'd at least taken care of her shoulder. Actually, if anyone did come knocking tonight, she might have to lie and say she slept like the dead...

Felicity winced as she tucked a wad of napkins over the small wound, tying it in place using the shreds of the shirtsleeve the Frenchman had managed to ruin when she hadn't dodged quite far enough. Then she deliberately and methodically wiped her hands off with more napkins.

It still took several more minutes of steady breaths before her hands stopped shaking so she could drive.

She wasn't stupid enough to risk driving before that; her life here was just getting interesting, no need to waste it by potentially ending up in the morgue via a car accident.

Besides, she _hated_ waking up in morgues. The cold sterility was just creepy... and cold.

Granted, dirty tombs or even dirtier—and six-foot-under—coffins were worse, but it'd been a lot longer since she'd been hurt enough to stay dead _that_ long. Methos would mock her for years, though, if he ever had to rescue her again from either such circumstances.

Finally, though, her hands were steady, so she turned the key in the ignition and, after a deliberate, "Three, two... one," started driving determinedly back into her present life.

Still, she'd have to wash her face when she got home. Wash away the tears and tear-tracks, along with the blood. Right after she'd patched up (and hidden) the minor injury that'd be a scar in only a few short days, and nearly invisible soon after that. It would be a bad cut for a mortal, of course, but for an ancient Immortal like her it'd barely be bleeding by this time tomorrow.

Sometimes Felicity wondered if she might feel a little less guilty, less heart sore, if such injuries _didn't_ heal so quickly. But she knew better than to tell anyone else that.

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V_.

John shook his head as he followed Felicity into the basement, unsurprised to see his employer working on the salmon ladder yet again. Given the glare she'd given him when he'd showed up in one of the Queen cars, minus the man himself, he half expected her to start yelling at said Queen.

Surprisingly, though, the tech girl went straight to her computers. Seemingly paying the billionaire up by the ceiling no mind as she plugged in a flashdrive she'd pulled out of her pocket, then sat down in her chair to start working once again.

Then again, given the way Felicity usually stared at Oliver while trying to pretend she wasn't—and he pretended not to notice her staring while he showed off—maybe her ignoring him was a more effective snub than yelling at him for sending his bodyguard to get her hours after they'd come back themselves.

John _was_ outside her house just under twenty minutes ago, at quarter to eight this morning. But he came in here first, at 6 A.M, both to work-out and not be surprised by the fact that his employer was already here. Sometimes he wondered if Oliver Queen actually slept.

They were also at her house last night, making sure she'd gotten home alright after the surprisingly stupid stunt she'd pulled with the security system. Locking them in while she went to her car, something she had to know would upset them, just like she'd correctly guessed Oliver would want to follow her out just to make sure she made it. It'd honestly surprised him last night when the archer was willing to just see her lights on and her car out front; though John half thought that Felicity owed the lack of a late night knock on her door, and the argument that would've followed, to his own presence. Specifically to the fact that the Bentley was the only non-vigilante vehicle at the Foundry last night, and the billionaire had at least the presence of mind to know it was better to asked his bodyguard to just drive by rather than go back himself after Digg dropped him at the mansion.

Actually, John was more than a little surprised Oliver was still up by the ceiling—wisely venting his frustration on the steel construct rather than yelling at their I.T girl first thing in the morning. Who's monitors had woken up as soon as she'd touched the mouse, the programs she'd apparently left running overnight still working away at the encrypted phone hours later. It was a real relief that they actually had someone who knew what they were doing with this sort of thing, because his glance at those computers told him absolutely nothing other than the fact that said programs were still doing _something_.

"Anything?" Oliver asked, finally dropped down from the top the ladder, somehow placing the bar in the bottom rung even as he landed the drop with ease.

John couldn't help both his eyebrows going up, just a little, at that. Surprised that the man that he'd half expected to head to cross someone off the List last night out of utter frustration was now able to look at the blonde that'd ignited that frustration with what looked like complete calmness... maybe he really hadn't slept last night. Though how anyone could expend the amount of energy he did exercising without at least some sleep, John Diggle didn't know.

Felicity didn't answer his calm question, her eyes locked on the screen as she typed in new commands; breezing through windows that to John seemed to open and close at random.

After a few seconds, John shook his head, "If these are results, I can't read them. Did it beep?"

"No," Felicity answered, and he wondered if she meant to answer him rather than Oliver specifically.

Would she really give the billionaire the silent treatment over something like this? When _she_ hadn't been completely in the right last night either?

It was obvious that their concern for her, and especially Oliver not wanting her to leave on her own last night, had bothered her.

But it wasn't like they didn't have plenty of reasons to want to make sure she at least made it safely to her car. It was almost midnight by the time she'd left last night, and while this part of the Glades wasn't specifically worse-off than others, it _was_ in the Glades, and until the club actually opened there was no security presence to deter violence outside at all. In fact, if the soon-to-open club wasn't owned by a recognized Bratva Captain—and in the area of the Glades that the Russian mob claimed as territory—they probably would've had at least a few 'security problems' already.

And Oliver wasn't the only one that'd wanted to follow the girl out last night. John couldn't put a finger on _why_ , but the way his gut had been stirring as they'd watched her walk up the stairs, _he'd_ nearly run after her.

Though he, at least, wasn't the one that got to the door that wouldn't open. Or the one that wasn't able to reboot it afterwards, with an explanation opening in a window that appeared as soon as he'd tried, stating that the system was already rebooting and would be for the next fifteen—then fourteen-something—minutes.

It did make John have to wonder if Felicity really realized how dangerous The Glades were. All the _danger_ beneath the statistics she'd quoted at them more than once. Because if she did, he couldn't understand why she'd thought locking them in here while she walked out even resembled a good idea.

Or why she kept turning his offers of self-defense lessons down. Still, while he would keep offering those lessons, he knew better than to keep it up non-stop.

Felicity hadn't been hesitant in her calm, polite refusals. Hadn't wavered once in the decision each time they'd brought it up so far. Sure, she'd been a little sulky that last time, as she'd tied her refusal to Oliver's decision to keep her out of the field after the Dodger—a decision Digg agreed with. But the only thing worse than an unwilling student was a _smart_ unwilling student, and John was certain that their I.T girl's I.Q was well within whatever they called genius-level these days.

John hadn't liked the idea of bringing Felicity Smoak anywhere near Oliver Queen's 'mission' to start with. Because she was a civilian and about as far removed from everything that defined the vigilante's personal war on crime as could be.

And because there was an obvious chance the genius girl that Oliver had found at _Queen Consolidated_ could throw off their working dynamic entirely. That hadn't been happening, though. She actually fit so well with them it was almost weird.

It'd been there even before that above and beyond stupid: it's in a syringe 'cause I ran out of sports bottles' cover. The former special forces soldier had had to walk away from that one, because he could see the big wheels turning behind Felicity's eyes. He could imagine all the pieces she had stored away in that brilliant brain of hers. Every little thing that Oliver had had to let slip, everything that he hadn't even realized she was seeing, shaping up into Digg's later query of whether she'd 'called this' a long time ago. Something he still sort of thought might be true. But it was hard to tell for sure.

Sometimes she seemed so sincere that John Diggle honestly couldn't imagine her keeping a secret to save her life. Other times it felt like she might have more secrets than John and Oliver combined, which was impossible.

But what John appreciated the most about Felicity Smoak wasn't her computer skills or even her intelligence. It was her honest desire to help, and, even more; the way her mere presence seemed to breathe life into the two weary men.

He wasn't in love with her like the archer almost certainly was—or, if he wasn't, he was much more than halfway there. But she was the kind of person that you almost had _to love_.

Oliver breathed, and smiled, a little more around her. Even when she was challenging him, which she had done from the start. Apparently the first time Queen had brought her a 'computer problem' in the form of Deadshot's bullet-ridden laptop she hadn't failed to call him on his bullshit, just like she'd asked about the syringe full of 'sports drink.' Except she accepted their excuses anyway, no matter how full of holes they were.

It hadn't hurt John's opinion of her, of course, that she'd said the same thing he had about Oliver's crusade, and only a few days after she'd officially joined their 'team.' That following his father's List rather than pursuing real criminals didn't make sense. Not when there were much worse blights on society out there than the white collar criminals that the Hood usually bullied into behaving better. Oliver and Digg had both regretted letting her anywhere near the Dodger, but neither of them could say she hadn't handled herself well. Even very well.

John smirked slightly as he watched the billionaire round the computer station to watch what the hacker was doing.

Felicity had plugged a flashdrive into one of the nearby computers even before she sat down. Now she was still typing in the window that said device had apparently opened. Or one of the windows it'd opened?

"This shouldn't take too much longer," Felicity muttered as Oliver stopped behind her, only to jump a second later, visibly startled, when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Gods, Oliver, don't _do_ that!" she chastised him as she spun away in the chair, wincing as she tugged her shoulder free with the motion. "You get to be all ninja-silent when you go scare bad guys, you don't have to—"

"What happened to your arm?" Oliver cut in with another deep frown, this one aimed at the shoulder he'd touched a second ago, and the honest concern in his voice had Digg closing the distance, too.

"Wha—oh, nothing. Just a little accident," Felicity said, but the pained wince that contorted her pretty features when she made the mistake of shrugging that shoulder said otherwise.

"Let me see," Oliver insisted, frown deepening when she twisted away from his reaching hand, but he didn't try to grab her.

Which showed another impressive amount of restraint, John thought, seeing as the other man was already, understandably protective of this woman. But, as he studied the girl's petite frame, specifically focusing on the shoulder she was angling away from both of them—literally twisting her chair all the way around so her back was to her computers as she watched them with a barely perceptible frown—John had to frown too.

He'd noticed the outfit she'd chosen for today was darker than normal. She mostly wore bright colors that suited her personality perfectly, sometimes contrasted with black or white, but always with some brilliant shade in there. This morning the blouse under her dark gray sweater was dark maroon. Not dreary, but dull... especially for the sunny girl that could usually brighten up even this space just by stepping into it.

"It's nothing, really," Felicity tried to insist, quickly going on with a gesture at the computers behind her, which she still wasn't focusing on. No, she wasn't even facing the monitors; her eyes were staying on the two men that were watching her at least as worriedly. "I really should get back to work on this. I mean, it shouldn't take too much longer with my new encryption, but it'll be faster if I'm—"

"Felicity," Oliver obviously hadn't missed her wince either; his frown probably couldn't get much deeper. "Let me see."

John might have wondered why the other man was being so insistent—and if he, if they, _should_ be—but he could see the slight bulge around her upper arm.

The bandages that the archer must have felt bunched up there, almost hidden by her sleeve. Almost. So it was an injury that'd needed more than a band-aid, even a big one.

It was a coin toss between which was upsetting Oliver Queen more; that he'd noticed it now, or that he hadn't noticed it sooner.

John was kicking himself for not noticing this morning, at least, but he knew that he'd been distracted by her the expectation of her displeasure at both being forced to accept a ride and then by not even having Oliver there to gripe at about it. Then he'd been busy being relieved that her early morning aggravation hadn't turned onto him. That he was currently semi-protected by the fact that Oliver _was_ technically his boss, though that sort-of-shield wouldn't last long the longer they worked together as a team.

But both, of course, would lose out to why he—why _they_ —hadn't been able to prevent it from happening to their I.T girl in the first place.

The frown that girl gave them at the repeated demand was surprisingly mulish, but then Felicity sighed and started shrugging her sweater off.

Oliver helped her as soon as she'd started to work her uninjured side free, pulling the soft garment off her hurt arm with visible care.

Without the slight bulk of the sweater that'd mostly been hiding it, the bulge of bandages around her upper arm was much more unmistakable. The sleeves of her maroon blouse didn't hide it at all; they were long enough, but the silky sleeves were meant to emphasize, not hide, clinging to her slender limbs in a way that was much more attractive on her unharmed arm than the one that was harmed.

It meant that she wouldn't have been able to take the sweater off without revealing her injury. But it was also the sort of material that slid on and off easily. The fact that she was hurting enough to need that assistance made both men frown more.

John wasn't overly surprised when Felicity started rolling the top up her arm, and though Oliver frowned— _probably_ at the fact that it'd make accessing her injury harder—he didn't say anything either. But both of them scowled when that rolled-up sleeve finally, if barely, offered full access to the bandages. Because those bandages weren't all white. They were marred by a long streak of red, from blood; bright, fresh blood.

"What happened?" Oliver demanded again. He didn't wait for her answer before he started unwinding the dressings, moving more slowly, more carefully than he ever would for himself. His frown actually got deeper as as he did so.

Not that John Diggle's didn't.

That wasn't a small cut and it was still bleeding. And _worse?_ It didn't look like something you _could_ get accidentally. It looked like someone had cut her.

The unhappy and all too likely thought had the ex-soldier swiftly crossing the few short strides to grab their medical cart from where it waited at the end of the computer station tables. Out of the way, but close to the table they'd sown Oliver up on only a few short weeks ago.

"I _told_ you," Felicity sighed again, wincing as Oliver carefully finished pulling the bandage off. "It was an—"

"This _isn't_ something that could happen _accidentally_ , Felicity," The archer growled, but he'd actually relaxed just a little.

And John could see why as he stopped with the cart next to them, but he still started pulling out the supplies they'd need to clean and re-bandage the wound. But he could breathe a little easier again, because even though there was a lot of blood on those bandages, even though it really looked like it was fresh; it obviously wasn't. At a glance, he'd guess that cut was about a week old.

Not entirely a pleasant thought. It meant that—since she'd somehow, miraculously, avoided any sign of infection at all—she was well on the way to being whole and hale again.

But it also brought back the angry wondering of why neither one of them had noticed it sooner. Could a painful slash through skin and flesh have really been hidden under a few bandages and loose sleeves of the bright blouses and dresses she usually wore? Apparently, since neither one had noticed even the slightest indication of her being hurt before now.

That didn't make John feel better. Oliver either, judging by the scowl that was back on his face.

Although said scowl, and the one that John could feel trying to shape his own mouth but held back with strict discipline, was also clear signs of their shared fury. Not at the small girl that was bravely biting her lower lip as Oliver gently inspected her wound, but at the thought of _anyone_ hurting her.

Nothing they could so about it now though. Other than be worried about why she'd tried to hide it from them, and why she still wasn't babbling about how it'd happened. But a glance down the rest of her bared arm did make Digg feel better because it dismissed a sudden, unhappy thought. At the very least the rest of the unflawed skin on her arm told them that she hadn't—and wasn't—hurting herself.

Therefore, they just had to worry about the defiant self-determination that made her want to lock them down here while she walked, alone, to her car. If only because it was at least as stubborn as the woman herself was; especially since she'd done that after someone had hurt her.

Felicity didn't answer until after they'd finished. After her shoulder was completely cleaned and rewrapped, all the medical supplies either put away or thrown out while she hid her new bandages away under her blouse again. Though her sweater stayed off. "I just bumped into something," she insisted, without making eye-contact as she spun her chair back to her computers and started typing again—reminding Diggle of when she'd been ignoring them today, but she kept talking. "I didn't really see it as it happened; it was dark. And I've kept a first-aid kit in my car since, you know, that night that—yeah, well, anyway, it's fine. Few more days and—"

"Where did you 'bump into something?'" Oliver cut in with a growl, clearly not buying her story anymore than Digg did.

They couldn't. That wasn't a scrape. And it definitely wasn't any sort of accident. It was a cut; too clear and straight along her shoulder—slicing through her flesh—to have been made by anything but a blade. A weapon. And weapons weren't typically anywhere around anyone's shoulder-height unless a hand was holding them there.

And it bothered John more than a little that she wasn't babbling now. That he could almost see all of those wheels inside her head turning as she thought about her response. That this, of all things, was something she clearly felt she couldn't be sincere about. That she didn't want to tell them how someone had hurt her. Or, maybe worse; who.

"I won't be able to park in the alley once the club opens," Felicity sighed after what felt like a very long handful of seconds, her eyes locked on the computer screen as she told them. "They haven't setup the lights out back yet, but—"

"Someone attacked you _here?!_ " Oliver spat, his now free hands curling into tight fists.

Making John realize his were white-knuckled, too: both of them more than ready to charge out the door she'd just come in after whatever punk was ill-fated enough to have picked their I.T girl as a target.

The only thing stopping them, really, was the fact that the laceration on her arm was already half-healed—and therefore obviously more than a few days old. And, obviously, the fact that whenever this happened, her attacker wouldn't be outside right now. (And hopefully it was 'attacker,' not attackers plural; because if some gang had decided to attack her right on their doorstop, or anywhere, Digg didn't think he had it in him to try and make their angry vigilante see any sort of reason. He'd rather help with the revenge thing.)

"I told you, I bumped into something," Felicity insisted flatly. "Anyway, it really did more damage to my coat than—"

"Fel-iss-city," Oliver growled her name out, emphasizing each syllable, but somehow not sounding all that much like the Hood as he did it. That might only be because they all knew he wasn't actually threatening her. "That is from a knife—"

" _No,_ " she insisted stubbornly, her expression twisting in a way that surprisingly made Diggle think she was being honest, but she was choosing her words carefully. Very carefully. "It's really not. You know, you really should remind the construction guys to clean up outside, there's still steel bars and stuff all over the place, and they're pretty much all done outside so—"

"Why didn't you tell us someone attacked you?" John cut in then, before Oliver could explode. Because, even though he could understand the storm building behind the billionaire's eyes, he didn't see how yelling at the strangely secretive girl would help at all.

"Like you guys talk _so_ much about how and where when you get hurt," the girl snorted; deflected, before insisting again. "I'm not going to bring it up every time I get a paper cut!"

"Felicity..." Oliver tried again, visibly reeling himself in—and not letting himself reach for her shoulder again. Though at this rate it probably wouldn't be long before he wanted to wring her neck. "It's not the same, and you know it. And that is _not_ a paper cut."

"For someone who doesn't want to talk about several recent years of his life, you want to talk about mine an awful lot," their tech girl said it so off-handedly it almost wasn't a slap in the face. Almost.

It was enough to make uncertainty battle a bit with the vigilante's anger and annoyance. "That's not..."

 _Beep-Beep-Beep!_

The sudden little sound from the computer seemed important, maybe because they'd been waiting for said 'beeps' for the last hour. Since last night really. So it made both men pause to watch another window open on a different monitor; this one similar to the same denial message they'd seen pop up more than once over the last few hours but the background was green and the message much more welcome.

 **ENCRYPTION OVERRIDEN.**

 **PROTOCOL 1-16.2231.**

 **ADMIN-LEVEL ACQUIRED.**

 **ACCESS ALLOWED.**

"I'm in!" Felicity enthused, grinning proudly; though half that grin was probably relief at the distraction.

It wouldn't buy her much time, of course, but trying to stop an assassination did have to take priority over how hidden injuries that never should've happened had.

They watched as she scrolled down to the MESSAGES folder and clicked it open.

John grimaced as another window opened full of Spanish. It really should be a surprise. The assassin _was_ a Spaniard. But somehow it still seemed like another stumbling block.

To his surprise, though, Felicity didn't immediately open some program to translate the text; instead she scrolled down—maybe looking for a name?—first.

 **EVENTO: Apreciación Gala.**

 **FECHA: Viernes, uno de marzo.**

 **OBJECTIVO: Destinatario Premio. [** **IMAGEN DISPONIBLE** **]**

"Oh no," Felicity murmured, at the same time Oliver started swearing in what John would guess was Russian.

"What? Wait, both of you speak Spanish?" John glanced between them in confusion. "Could someone translate, then? 'Cause I only know English and Arabic."

Felicity clicked the link to in the small window, and a photo-viewer popped up, but Oliver was already headed towards his gear.

When the image finished downloading, John saw why. "Shit."

The target was Malcolm Merlyn.

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

Tommy's dad. The Triad was trying to kill Tommy's dad.

"They're going to go after him at the awards ceremony tonight," Oliver groaned at the realization. He was halfway to his gear before he stopped, because there was nothing he could do with it yet. It wasn't like he could hood up and storm out after anyone who _might_ have something to do with this... when it came to organized crime, that list was just too long.

It would bother him anyway, but it was worse now. If he'd known... well, he probably would've still talked Tommy into trying to reconcile with his dad; just not necessarily while this contact was hanging over the business man's head. Not when it'd likely led to Tommy accepting the invitation and being at the gala tonight. His best friend _didn't_ deserve to have his father killed right in front of them, whether they'd reconciled at all or not. That was only a little better than what Oliver had had to see; his father killing himself... for him.

"You could call Detective Lance?" Felicity suggested uncertainly, "He might—"

"They might cancel the ceremony," Oliver cut in. "But they might just set up a sting, too."

"Like they did at the UNIDAC auction," Digg nodded. "Trying to catch the assassin like Deadshot."

"Or trying to catch me," the vigilante pointed out with a grimace. "Can you access the security system at _Merlyn Global?_ " he asked, looking at the blonde again, focusing on the mission rather than her tugged free and re-sleeved shoulder because she was here, safe, and Malcolm Merlyn wasn't.

Not that it was easy ignoring the fact that she was injured, that someone hurt her, and she hid it from him. From both of them. But there'd be time for that later. Even if there wasn't, Oliver would _make_ time.

Instead of answering, Felicity started typing again, and most of the windows that'd just been open full of codes closed, but more appeared, new series of meaningless numbers and letters scrolling though them faster than he could even try to read in some places. But after about a minute of typing, she sighed. "No. The security system's not air-gapped like the rest of it, but it might as well be. Their firewalls are N.S.A grade and—well, I could probably get in. In a couple of days?" she looked much more apologetic about that than she had at any time for everything related to her injury tonight, but she didn't actually say sorry when she sighed, "I'd be faster if I could, but the back door's not there."

"Back door?" Digg questioned, and they both watched, frowning, as their hacker flinched when she had to abort a shrug halfway through.

"Yeah, like Q.C." Felicity explained. " _Merlyn Global_ has the same setup; employee access via the internet for some things, but, not unwisely, that doesn't include security systems or anything confidential. But they don't have their security linked to the S.C.P.D—like Q.C. does—as a backup in case something happens," the girl shook her head. "I thought that was required for security these days, but I guess not."

"I'd say it's one of those things that's just strongly suggested," Digg said with a frown without looking at them. "They probably have an alarm in place for it. Not much good if the guy on duty falls asleep, but most big companies at least have more than one guy watching the cameras to avoid that problem anyway."

The archer might suspect she was avoiding eye-contact to avoid discussing her injury further, but somehow it seemed like her work really was just that much more important to her: over-shadowing all else. A mindset so similar to Oliver's own most of the time that it was more than a little troubling to recognize.

"So you can't gain access?" Oliver double-checked, making their hacker sigh.

"Not remotely. I'll need you to plug in for me," Felicity replied distractedly as she kept typing, images of schematics scrolling by as she did so. Then she paused with a wince that wasn't from pain. "I mean—You know what I mean, right? Right," she went on without waiting for either of them to answer again. "And that _can_ be done on the ground floor, but that has to be ridiculous getting ready for the gala right now, right?"

"Right," Oliver sighed, rubbing his brow as he thought.

Alerting the police too soon would only give them the time to setup a sting for 'the Hood,' so if they went that route he'd have to be careful... but it made sense to make sure they were geared up for _something_ happening tonight.

"We'll warn the police," Oliver decided, moving to the side-table where he kept his encrypted phone for those very calls. "Give Lance a heads up on why Barrera was here."

"Why?" Felicity turned to blink up at him then. "I mean, they almost caught you guys fighting at the heliport, 'cause they were on their way there. They just found out he was coming to Starling later than you somehow did. Which I'm curious about, since you didn't ask _me_ to look his name up or anything like that, but not the point—ow," she started to shrug and aborted with a pained gasp breaking through her wince.

Again, Oliver frowned automatically at that, but Digg was already headed for the medical station when he glanced at it, so he forced himself to just raise an eyebrow when she glanced up at him again.

In response, she answered one of his unspoken questions, "There's a note about it in your case file, which I'm obviously keeping tabs on. You're welcome, by the way."

That got a small smile out of both men, even as Digg activated a cold pack with a quick snap and wrapped it in a paper towel before offering it to her.

"Oh um, thank you," Felicity accepted the pack, pressing it to her upper arm immediately, but her glance between them maintained that she still wasn't going to discuss the injury.

"Thank _you_ ," Oliver dutifully replied, before explaining. "They know he was probably here to kill someone, but they don't know who hired him or that the hit's still scheduled to go down tonight."

"You tell them that it's tonight, they'll still set a sting up around the gala," Digg pointed out.

Oliver shook his head. "The S.C.P.D's stretched pretty thin. They'll already have a presence there, but as long as I don't admit _I'll_ be there too far in advance, they won't be able to drum up much more than what's already setup."

"And you're getting me access how?" Felicity frowned at him, and got another, unhidden frown back.

"We don't need—"

"You're the one that asked about the cameras to start with. And if you're gonna be there, I need to at least see what you're doing," Felicity insisted, shifting around and letting her icepack fall as she did so. "If only so I can make sure they don't see something like your hood falling off—"

"It won't," Oliver objected, frowning as he caught her by her uninjured shoulder and gently pressed her to stay put, before reaching for the only barely-cold pack and directing it back to her injury, letting his hand fall as soon as she'd complied with rolled eyes.

"Or you stepping into too much light," she finished insistently.

Diggle was chuckling before she finished, and he answered before Oliver could, "I don't know how Oliver was trained, Felicity, but you've seen from our sparring sessions—and, apparently, the police reports—that he is."

It was yet another jab at Oliver's all too many secrets. Only unexpected because Felicity was here. While the former soldier was still curious, still thought Oliver should talk his traumas out and all that, their I.T girl's presence had seemed to render the basement safe from those inquiries. Till now.

"In fighting and other scary-ninja stuff, yeah," Felicity agreed, going on before either one of them could decide if they should say anything in response to that. "But the arterially blood you left at Q.C _wasn't_ the only thing S.C.P.D had on you, Oliver. They have a whole bunch of videos. And pictures, and—"

"Those images are too dark for them to even be sure my hood's green, Felicity." Oliver attempted to reassure her, more amused than annoyed. Then again, it was hard for them not to appreciate her honest concern—even if the reverse didn't seem to be true. "Nothing that can—"

"There's _plenty_ of green in more than a few of those pictures! And if their tech-support wasn't absurdly understaffed and therefore backlogged by weeks on the best of days, they could've made out a lot more than that pretty quickly!" the genius interrupted with a glare, starting to drop the cold-pack again. When he reached to move it back into place again, she preempted him by pressing it back to her shoulder. "But it doesn't take too much time to figure out the right ranges for your height and your body type. Which isn't actually common enough to be called 'common.' _And_ they already decided Oliver Queen fit that part of the profile perfectly! That was half the reason Detective Lance was actually able to get a warrant to arrest you in the first place!"

"That was the video from UNIDAC, which was intentional," Oliver maintained.

"That _stupid_ video shouldn't have gotten any judge in Starling City to sign a warrant for _your_ arrest without at least executing a search warrant first! And they probably wouldn't have gotten even that! Not without the timing and—"

"The _timing_ was why I had to do it," Oliver interrupted. "The men that kidnapped me and Tommy forced my hand a _lot_ sooner than I'd planned. I had to move my timetable up, and I had to cover my bases."

"By getting arrested?!"

"It worked, didn't it?" he shot back, then went on to try and reassure her, struggling to keep a reasonable, calmly reassuring tone as she glared at him. "Felicity, I case every scene I _can_ before a fight. Sometimes it's not possible."

"Which is why the S.C.P.D's server is going to 'accidentally' delete most of that data before frying itself very soon," the hacker told them, before she poked a finger into Oliver's chest, he guessed to physically emphasize the point with her pointer finger.

That had Diggle moving for the first time since she'd started ranting, but he didn't intervene as she kept going. Not that Oliver would expect him too; he wouldn't draw her ire if he had a choice here, either, but apparently he didn't. Not when it seemed everything she was angry about from what she considered his past mistakes was now surging to the surface.

They didn't really have time for this, not with everything they only had today to do. But Felicity's eyes were burning so brightly, kindled by everything he knew she was trying to help with, help save him as far too many others had had to do before, that for a moment Oliver could only stare back.

"Something I would prefer _not_ to do too often, 'cause, you know, that sort of thing might lead to them thinking they _were_ hacked, which might lead to them thinking they were _being_ hacked regularly, and hacking police databases is a lot easier when they don't know you're doing it, so—"

"Wait," Oliver stopped her as he suddenly realized exactly what she was implying. "What are you talking about?" He continued without waiting for her answer. "Felicity, you—we can't destroy the S.C.P.D's computers. With their normal funding it'd take them years to replace, and—"

"And three, two, one," Felicity interrupted him again, clearly more for herself than him; she took a deep breath as she finished, then replied. "They _do_ usually go after actual bad guys, I know," she shook her head. "It'll be as localized as it can be without being suspicious."

"If all the evidence on the vigilante's gone, it's gonna be suspicious, Felicity," Digg found his voice as hers calmed. "Detective Lance will—"

"He won't," she sighed, shaking her head again as she started to put the cold-pack down, again, before it could've possibly helped. "He won't have anything to prove it, at least."

Oliver scowled and grabbed a hold of the back of her chair to pull it away from the computers, placing himself in between her and the desk, before he pressed the cold pack to her shoulder yet again. " _Keep_ it there," he ordered when she frowned at him.

And he was standing so close to her now, right over her, that he was looking over the top of the glasses he really thought she didn't need to see her roll her eyes, as she leaned back in the chair, completely passive with the cold pack in place. Sitting passively between his hands, as if she hadn't been yelling at him less than a minute ago.

"I'm not deleting _everything_ ," Felicity started again a moment later, her voice that tired sort of calm. "Just the photographic evidence that could tie back to you too easily and—well, mostly the stuff that they could nail your coffin shut with, really, but some other stuff, too—"

"Felicity, no," Oliver stopped her again, shifting again so that he was blocking her line of sight to the machines when she glanced towards her computers. "That'll just make them realize I have someone like you helping me. I won't let—"

" _That'll_ make them realize?" the blonde interrupted, staring at him.

Oliver stared back, not letting himself react even as he recognized the utter incredulity in her voice, eyes and the lines of her face. Even though this was starting to sound like he hadn't done enough research to avoid being spoon-fed technical terms again.

His I.T girl sighed. "I don't know how even those poor over-worked morons haven't realized _that_ already."

"What'd you mean, Felicity?" Digg asked, the deep, calm tones of his voice not hiding the requisite edge of concern.

Another sigh, then she said; " _Oliver_ , you brought me that laptop _at Q.C,_ watched me work on it there, and then turned it over to the S.C.P.D _without telling me_ to erase the access data!"

Oliver frowned down into her half-hearted glare as he considered her words, but it was Diggle that asked again.

"What does that mean?"

"It _means_ ," their computer genius sighed, "That when—when, not if—their C.S.U look at the laptop's event log to see what devices its connected to throughout its life, they'll see that it connected to a terminal at Q.C on October twenty-fifth of last year."

"When I brought the laptop in to you," Oliver nodded, frowning in thought. "Will they know that—"

"That it was my terminal?" Felicity cut in, shaking her head even as she did so. "No, I... well, basically I wasn't allowing the computers to communicate that much, just in case your bullet-filled-latte had viruses too."

It was the amused sarcasm in her voice, more than her word choice, that had Oliver smirking in response.

"His what?" Digg demanded an explanation, but Oliver didn't think he was imaging the edge of relief in his voice still being there.

"When he bought me the assassin's laptop to decrypt, it had a bunch of bullet holes on it," Felicity summarized, rolling her eyes as she finished. " _He_ said that he spilled a latte on it."

The look his bodyguard shot him then was resignedly amused. "Considering you weren't involuntarily high at the time and you'd had time to think of an excuse, that's _much_ worse than the syringe because you ran out of sport's bottles."

Oliver shrugged, not about to say that—in the face of her blatant sincerity, embarrassed but adorable babbling included—he just hadn't _wanted_ to lie to her and so the blatant, too obvious lie had slipped out.

He also couldn't admit that he'd known he would've been better off _not_ trying to explain past saying what he'd needed off of it. Not when he thought it was really her looking away that'd had him talking again, before he realized he was saying one of the excuses he'd just decided he _couldn't_ use as he rode Q.C's elevator to the I.T Department's floor to meet with a woman who's personnel file rated her as 'quite possibly the most intelligent individual in the company.' Very high praise, especially since that wasn't just her I.Q test score; those exact words had been added to it by Walter. So her not falling for it, or every poor cover he came up with after that (all seeming to follow the same pattern against his will), wasn't surprising. The only real exception had been the Vertigo B.S. That time he really hadn't thought about it before going to her with the syringes, but he _wasn't_ fully recovered from a near deadly overdose at the time.

Instead of saying anything about any of that, Oliver stepped away to grab one of the chairs he'd brought down here himself, setting it in between the tech girl and her computers before sitting. He crossed his arms as he thought aloud, pretending not to see her frown at no longer having any chance of rolling right back to her computers. "So I should break into the S.C.P.D and delete the records myself, that way—"

"That way they _will_ have clear footage of you. In their own building. Where they can compare that footage to any number of on-site references, and have an even better idea of what you look like?" the sarcasm in her voice wasn't softly amused anymore.

Oliver rolled his eyes, "I've seen some of those images, Felicity. The hood _works_ , even in light with the paint."

"If you keep vigilante-ing and training too late _and_ too early, I'm not sure your excessive eye-shadow and perpetual five o'clock scruff will make all that much of difference," the girl scoffed.

Diggle snorted, not even trying to hide his amusement.

Oliver rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to reply, but stopping when she started going again first.

"Since you were in Q.C that same week, with a non-Q.C laptop that you brought to the I.T department, and more than a few people know that's how we met; you don't remember what day of the week it was, okay?"

Oliver blinked at her, "It was a Saturday."

"Yeah, the afternoon _before_ the auction. But you don't remember that, 'cause the laptop was at Q.C that Saturday and the Q.C security footage for that now shows you in the I.T Department the next day."

Oliver nodded, glad to be finally following. "Sunday. Which was after I gave the laptop to Lance."

"Um-hum, and the shootout, too, so...yeah," Felicity nodded.

"Won't it look odd?" Digg pointed out then. "You working on the weekend? Saturday _and_ Sunday?"

"No—well, maybe a little," their I.T expert admitted, shaking her head even as she did so. "But if they ask anyone, they'll hear that I work a lot of overtime, and whole weekends aren't that unusual for me, so—"

"Why?" Oliver demanded, frowning when she blinked at him.

"Why not?" she asked, as if she hadn't just taken a jab at his occasional early mornings and frequent late nights.

"Felicity, you've been here a lot, since you found out," Oliver remembered, frown deepening as he realized he couldn't think of a single time she'd come in here from anywhere other than work before Digg had picked her up at home this morning. "And you've come here, straight from Q.C more than once."

"Pretty late a few times," Diggle added, also not bothering to hide his concern. He shook his head, "But if you're really working that much overtime, doesn't accounting have anything to say about it?"

Oliver didn't let his frown deepen as he glanced between them; a little blind-sided by the idea that her hours might have more to do with finance than whether or not she was a workaholic. But maybe it was a bit of both?

"Well, they did, my first few months at Q.C," their I.T girl rolled her eyes. "But I was closing more jobs than anyone else even came close to so it was more grumbling than anything serious. And they haven't even grumbled since two managers killed the Q.C network on a Sunday night, 'cause my still being there was the only reason it was up again before everyone came in Monday morning. They've pretty much left me alone since then," she shook her head. "And there's always plenty to do, so—"

"You didn't record any outstanding debt with Q.C when you started," Oliver interjected, mentally going over everything he'd found about her in his attempt to research her before their first meeting. "No school loans or—"

"It's not about the money," Felicity cut him off, rolling her eyes. "And it's not a crime to get caught up in your work now, is it? 'Cause if any of the people on your list are only guilty of that it'd be really hypocritical of you to—"

"You were the only one there when I came in to Q.C that day," Oliver interrupted as he remembered that more specifically.

Her being alone at Q.C's I.T department had seemed like a stroke of good luck at the time since it was the second place he'd looked for her. Between her sweet sincerity and what she'd quickly pulled off of Deadshot's laptop he hadn't thought much about why she would be working late on a Saturday afternoon. Looking back, though, he didn't see how it made sense for her to be the only one there. If there was that much work to be done, she shouldn't be the only one working on it. Even on the weekend.

"It was after five," Oliver remembered because he hadn't been sure Lance would still be at work afterwards, but the Detective hadn't clocked out till quarter of six that night. And then had to clock back in almost immediately afterwards.

Felicity sighed. "No, it was—well, yeah, it probably was, actually, but I was working on... something."

"Something?" Digg asked, as unconvinced as Oliver.

"Well... yes. Some...thing," she replied, and it wasn't until the last word was out that Oliver realized why she wasn't looking at either of them now.

One side of his mouth quirked upward automatically as he realized what she wasn't saying. "You don't even remember what it was, do you?"

Her whole face fell in a moment of resigned acceptance, then she sighed and admitted, "No. But that's your fault, so leave me alone."

"My fault?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," his I.T girl insisted stubbornly. "Your fault."

"How was it his fault?" Digg wondered, not trying to hide his amusement either.

And Felicity sighed again. "I know I'd sent _something_ off when you showed up, but I closed out of it before I started working on your lap—well, _the_ laptop," then she froze, frowning again. "And my mouth could not have picked a _worse_ place to pause there, could it?"

Oliver chuckled, both in amusement and because he'd learned that just completely ignoring the faux pas'—that were always startling no matter how many times they slipped past her lips—frequently didn't make her feel better faster. And as Digg also snorted somewhere in the background, he saw a little of the tension leave her shoulders as expected. Not all of it, not when she had to be careful of her shoulder, but the tiny amount that'd built up with the verbal gaffe did fade.

"Still not sure how that makes it my fault, when you'd probably already finished," Oliver observed, then his half smile dropped into a frown again. "You didn't stay later to..."

"Figure it out? Not much later, no." She answer when he trailed off, shrugging her good shoulder as she finished. "I think."

"Then how is it my fault?" The archer asked.

He _had_ realized she was dodging the question, but he'd also noticed she wasn't doing it in the same way she'd refused to talk about how she'd been hurt—flatly refusing to talk about it after telling them that it'd happened near here and she was fine. No, this dodging seemed more similar to her embarrassment after one of her slips-of-the tongue, so he felt like he could press a little more.

With all the secrets they all had anyway, little ones like this seemed important in their own way. Both as a way to build up trust between them; maybe building their already effective team up that much more, and making some of the bigger secrets both a little easier to share and hear.

As she'd already started to give up on this particular query, it wasn't surprising that she gave in fairly easily. "You smiled."

"What?" Oliver blinked at her, ignoring Diggle's deep chuckle in the background.

"And you did it on purpose, too," the girl accused, "Don't even pretend you didn't."

"O...kay?" he answered, then just kept watching her as she went on. Because, yes, smiling at a girl who he knew thought he was cute had seemed like a good defense against her unimpressed reservations about the laptop, but he wasn't about to admit that when doing so might lead all too quickly to an argument about the ethics of using her crush against her or something like that. Or he might say something stupid about that smile being a natural response to her searching eyes...

"There I was, working away on something that was probably at least a little important, and you came in with that poor laptop and the most unbelievable lie anyone could've come up with for it, and _you_ _smiled_." Felicity sighed as she leaned carefully back in her seat as she kept complaining. "And even without the Hamlet thing to confuse me, the only thing I could really remember before that was my own idiotic greeting."

"I don't think anyone could ever call you idiotic, Felicity," Oliver told her sincerely, unable _not_ to smile after that even as he added, "I am sorry for startling you."

"No you're not," Felicity responded immediately. "You've startled me plenty of times since then—you're very startling." She looked at him then, and groaned.

"You said this is in Q.C security footage for the day after the auction now?" Digg asked, drawing their attention to where he was leaning against one of the side tables, plainly amused.

"Yeah," Felicity confirmed. "Q.C saves them for, I think, three years?" She shook her head. "I could've just deleted the footage, since you don't have to sign-in when you come in, but—"

"No, changing the date makes more sense," Oliver reassured her before she could start second-guessing herself again.

While a lot of things didn't make sense about her, he'd recognize her computer skills as unparalleled even if he hadn't looked her up as much as he could before approaching her. So he wasn't certain why she would feel the need to doubt herself every now and again. Usually she didn't, she knew with absolute certainty what was needed, just like she'd been able to handle. But sometimes she just stopped, somehow looking like she hadn't obviously been working with computers almost all of her life and needed to remind herself of what the next step should be. Granted, all of those times she'd been doing something _**way**_ beyond _his_ skill-level, but it still seemed... odd.

"But that's the only thing you changed, right?" Digg added then.

"Yeah..." Felicity blinked over at him, then nodded. "Yes. The more you change, the more obvious it is. Plus, there's no audio, and you were standing with your back to the camera, mostly blocking me from sight, too, 'cause you're huge—well, not _huge_ , of course, but a lot bigger than me, and—yeah. They won't be able to see what we're saying. Even when you were sitting, the security footage really only shows the tops of our heads over the cubicle walls. So if we both say I just got some files off of the hard drive for you before you threw it away, no one can prove otherwise as long as our fingerprints aren't on the casing. And if we keep it that simple, it'd even be the truth."

Oliver nodded slowly. "Yeah, I wiped the case before I gave it to Lance. That'll work, good job," he told her, returning her smile with one of his own, a little more widely then he might've before that babble about it.

It was so easy to smile around Felicity, at least when he wasn't noticing things like secret injuries. But he'd actually made a point of trying _not_ to after he'd pulled back the hood. He could be truthful with her now, after all, and smiles were part of the mask he wore without the hood.

Smiles didn't come easy to him anymore, but the carefree and careless playboy was an image he had to retain, so he'd forced the habit to form. Most of the time it wasn't difficult, but it was natural only a few rare times. And many of those times had been around the girl that was blinking at him.

Diggle clearing his throat made both of them blink then, but the former soldier only smirked when they looked at him.

"Right, sorry. Just give me a few minutes to program the flashdrive. Then we should still go to Q.C so I can show you where to plug in... and gods I _need_ to think of another way to say that."

"Unless I have to leave it after the download, it's not important," Oliver shook his head, "We don't have that much time, Felicity. The gala's tonight."

"At six, yeah," Felicity nodded, arching an eyebrow at him. "But what were you going to do in the meantime?"

There were so many answers he could give to that, but the only one that might give her pause was talking Tommy _out_ of going to possibly watch his dad die, and Oliver wasn't sure he even _could_ do that.

Not when his best friend deciding to actually accept the invite was such a big step towards maybe closing the rift that'd existed between Tommy and Mister Merlyn for as long as Oliver could remember. Or at least stopping that rift's expansion. Sure, it's blown up when Mister Merlyn had cut Tommy off, but it was there before. That was why Oliver had known better than to interrupt when Tommy was trying to explain his side of the disaster that was his relationship with the elder Merlyn.

And as Felicity had managed to give them the target and timetable nearly twelve hours in advance of when it was happening, they did actually have time to prepare. No matter how silly or unnecessary the preparation seemed.

"Look," the I.T girl went on when he'd obviously taken too long to answer. "This really just makes sense, Oliver. I _can_ clean up your electronic trail as you go along, to the best of my ability, I mean, which is pretty good, of course, but—"

"I'd say you deserve more than 'pretty good,' Felicity," Oliver cut in with yet another one of those gentle smiles that seemed to come so easily around her. Which he just now realized had more to do with why the girl blinked at him half the time than any real confusion on her part.

"Well, yeah, but it'd a whole lot easier to just _keep_ that trail clean," she finished her argument.

"If the security cameras aren't recording, we don't have to worry about the video on them." Digg pointed out.

"Right, but—"

"That won't be a problem tonight," Oliver cut in, shaking his head with certainty. "The first thing the Triad will do is cut the cameras."

"You can't _know_ that," Felicity insisted, shaking her head. "What if _they_ try to take control of the cameras instead? You wouldn't even know if I'm not in the system."

Oliver tried not to frown as he made himself consider what she was saying instead of immediately shooting it down.

Even with the secrets she was obviously keeping—dangerous secrets she really shouldn't—Oliver had never felt that Felicity was dishonest. There'd been times, like tonight, when she chose her words carefully, or apparently chose not to speak at all—but just as many times when she had no real reign on her tongue. The dichotomy was strange, but reassuring. At least it was when the words she wasn't saying involved _her_ being _hurt_ by someone (or at all) and _not telling_ _him_.

Of course, Oliver had to wonder what she'd done before being hired by Walter, supposedly fresh out of M.I.T. Because she'd obviously done _something_ more than rank second in a national tech competition four years ago, and graduate top of her class after that. Even the doctorate she'd insisted on getting before accepting Walter's more recent offer didn't make sense of her amazingly diverse skill-set, nor her confidence and courage. She fit too well into this team. She'd needed no time to improve their setup and, apparently, cover for them online in ways even he never would've considered, despite his time with ARGUS.

Oliver had already struggled with the idea that maybe she'd been caught doing some illegal hacking and been recruited by some part of the government, which would've then cleared her record after some sort of service. But the timing didn't work. He couldn't think of anything she specifically could've done to work off such a debt to any organization _anything_ like ARGUS in only a few short years. He couldn't think of any sort of one-time job or short-term work that might get her out of that sort of situation; even if whoever a hacker might make that sort of deal with was anywhere near as charmed by her as he was.

Still, if Oliver _knew_ that she had that sort of experience, it might be easier to stomach the idea of this brilliant but gentle girl actually watching him fight. Really fight; not just spar with Diggle. He'd have to fight to wound, if not kill, in order to take down any professional hitman.

And with their assassin taken out the Triad was more likely to send a whole team; meaning he'd have to be especially brutal to make sure they didn't gain the upper hand.

It wasn't that he wasn't aware that she _could_ help, that went without saying, but he was sure that Diggle would prefer to protect her from that side of their mission as much as they could, just like him. Whether she ever agreed to accept self-defense lessons or not.

From that stubborn set of her lips though, and her gaze—unblinking and steadily locked with his—this wasn't something she'd drop. Even, or maybe especially, if he told her to.

Worse: there were too many ways for her to try getting involved herself. If she couldn't hack them from afar, she might try to go in herself—whether it was as party-crasher tonight, sneaking in sometime before that, or some combination there of... it was too risky to allow.

And the only ways Oliver could guarantee control of the situation was to keep her tied up down here—or handcuffed to Diggle—until this was all over. Or keep her involved with what he planned. While the first two options were tempting, and might even be necessary if she continued to do dangerous things like not tell them she was _attacked_ _and_ _hurt_ ; doing so would likely lead to her leaving.

Something Oliver should probably want, at least a little, but there were too many reasons not to. Sure, he could ignore her presence in every good dream he'd had lately. Mostly. But the number of times his own know-how when it came to tech just wasn't enough for his mission; times when problems that'd stymied him she'd been able to solve—or at least knew how to solve—with little to no effort, had been too many to ignore.

And while that night she'd nearly caught him in Walter's office years ago had partially been why he'd stopped on her profile in the Q.C, Oliver hadn't just approached her. One of the most vital lessons he'd learned since the _Gambit_ sank, after all, was that it was important to be prepared. Only one part of that was setting up an area that kept the mission separate from his family. Another was recognizing that he might need help with what was beyond his own knowledge and abilities.

Though he'd 'attended' four different colleges, he hadn't flunked out of all four only because someone made sure to withdraw him from his classes at each one before the deadlines for such things. He hadn't bothered to attend most classes, and the few he'd attended he hadn't paid all that much attention to. With a life of luxury and excess, followed by a few years of submersion in survival training, combat, espionage and everything else, Oliver knew his own skills could only carry him so far. One such area was computers; where Maseo's crash-courses meant he knew the basics, but little more.

So, upon his return to Starling City, Oliver had looked up the easiest to access tech support available to him. Felicity Smoak's smiling profile would've made him pause even if she wasn't the highest rated employee in that division.

Oliver almost hadn't approached her, even after he'd spent some time over the few weeks since his return to Starling confirming that she was the perfect choice; both harmless and more than skilled enough to merit the risk.

Still, the real smile she'd innocently inspired back when his life was still some sort of hell had nearly made him look for someone else. Made him want to protect her, at least by not bring his mission, or himself, anywhere near her.

Deadshot's encrypted laptop, however, had been well beyond his computer skills, and he hadn't researched anyone else he could approach instead, especially when he'd seen she was unexpectedly signed in at Q.C that day. With Deadshot's targets dropping like flies and the auction they S.C.P.D had linked them all to looming, there wasn't anyone else he could go to.

He'd had a half-formed plan to approach her with the Hood, at home, the same way he'd approached Laurel only a few days later for help saving Peter Declan. But she hadn't been home. Finding her at _Queen Consolidated_ instead—in addition to being a surprise—also meant that approaching her _as_ the Hood was unwise.

That would've drawn the attention of the S.C.P.D to _Queen Consolidated_ in relation to the Vigilante case, and while he'd already known he needed to arrange a means of making them accuse him without solid evidence, thanks to both the timing and the fact that Laurel's father was the lead-detective on the case, having them focus on his family's company even as they focused on him didn't seem like a great idea. Particularly when breaking into the I.T department there would've been a big change from all the places the Hood had been seen before.

Regardless, Felicity was the only one there when he'd arrived, so she would've been the only choice he could make even if he hadn't already recognized her as the best choice. So he'd brought the laptop to her, and glances and comments aside, she'd performed perfectly. It'd only made sense to go back the next time he needed tech help, and every time after.

Now, though, Felicity Smoak was already too involved to expect her to just leave and forget. In fact, it might be more likely she'd keep trying to help. On her own. And that could very quickly become dangerous. Even deadly.

Oliver finally sighed, "Okay," he agreed, holding her gaze as he continued. "But only remote access. You're not going anywhere near _Merlyn Global_ tonight."

While letting her watch him fight might very well scare her off, at least if that was the case he could hope that she would just go back to her normal, everyday life afterwards. He could allow that. Whereas her ending up in the hospital, while it certainly might also scare her away from his mission, _wasn't_ something he could allow. After all, as horrifying as that'd be, there was no guarantee she _would_ just end up in the hospital if someone like a Triad hitman somehow caught her helping him.

"But—"

"That's _final_ , Felicity," Oliver cut her off firmly, his hands still gently restraining as she tried to shrug his hold off for the first time. "The Triad won't hesitate to kill anyone in their way. I can't— _We_ can't risk putting you anywhere on site."

It'd been bad enough when she'd been caught by the Dodger, a jewel thief who typically released his hostage as long as they did what they were told. Remembering that bomb around her neck and the pure panic she hadn't entirely been able to hide, Oliver _couldn't_ let her go anywhere near criminals who were much more dangerous in both their objectives and their methods.

The genius studied him a long moment, then sighed. "Fine," she murmured, pursing her lips in thought in thought. Usually she used lipsticks that were brighter pinks, but today her lips were painted an almost purple pink to match her outfit. Then sighed again. "I can set up a U.S.B that'll give me remote wireless access. You'll just have to plug into me— _for_ me, I mean. Into the security system. Or the mainframe. The mainframe would be better."

Oliver started to nod—more than understanding how complete control, or as near to it as they could get, could be a good thing to have in reserve tonight.

But he didn't say anything when Digg asked, "Why?"

Instead he kept watching Felicity, not letting himself look at the shoulder she was still shy of moving too much, studying her for whatever else might lay beneath her somehow almost always sincere smiles and the surprising slips of the tongue that occasionally scandalized her babbles at their owner's expense.

"Because it has access to security, but the reverse isn't necessarily true." their hacker explained, the words almost another sigh. "The mainframe should be able to access everything in the building. Cameras, computers, phones—everything."

"And where's the mainframe?" Oliver queried, not at all shocked when Felicity didn't even try turning to her computers again to get the answer she'd brought up before being pulled out of her chair.

"The twenty-fifth floor."

"That's...doable," Oliver said as he stood and moved to the computer, his chair still blocking her path back.

He didn't bother to ask where she'd found the building schematics if she didn't have access to _Merlyn Global's_ computers because it probably wasn't relevant. There were too many other databases, government, insurance, and probably many more, that would have this on file and it didn't really matter which one she got them from as long as they were the right ones. The ' _Merlyn Global Group Tower_ ' in the title bar would be more than enough reassurance that it was the right schematics, even if it didn't look correct in the vague way of a building he'd been to but never actually cased before.

"There's no way to get full access other than the server?" Oliver clarified, just to be sure.

"No," Felicity answered, leaning back in her chair to meet his eyes without straining her neck as she did so, but looking away to try and unsuccessfully hide her wince when her arm brushed against the backrest.

Oliver scowled, and he saw Digg shift in his peripheral vision, but neither one of them said anything as she hurried on.

"Now, I'll have the RAT setup to download as soon as the U.S.B is plugged in, but... well, I can't show you how here. I could show you at Q.C—"

"Don't we just need to plug a U.S.B into a computer?" Oliver interrupted. Really hoping that working with her computer capabilities wasn't going to start feeling like working with Maseo had every once and a while.

When they were under ARGUS's thumb, his friend had had to all but spoon-feed him technical terms. Feeling like an idiot for his ignorance—that he could blame on no one but himself—had driven Oliver to research all he could in what little spare time he'd had. Unfortunately while most of what Felicity was saying made sense, it seemed all-too-possible he might have to spend some time between his 'too early' mornings and 'too late' nights studying to learn more. Soon.

It seemed a bit strange to Oliver that _Merlyn Global_ had a similar setup to those used by the federal government, though. Especially when _Queen Consolidated_ didn't have the same defense. Unlike M.G.G, Q.C did have a large number of defense contracts, and that was before Walter had started building up the Applied Science' division even more. But the point of all this was to save Malcolm Merlyn, not look into his business, so those sort of wonderings were irrelevant.

"If you 'just' plug the U.S.B in 'somewhere,' they'll _know_ someone broke in to do it," Felicity explained patiently, shaking her head. "Even if we do this right, there's a chance _Merlyn Global_ 's cyber security will notice pretty quickly. That's the benefit of having an actual cyber security department, which Q.C probably should, by the way. But, done _wrong?_ Their security protocols are way too doom's day defense for them not to notice sooner rather than later. Even if the RAT's directly imbedded and integrated in the server, they still might notice—hopefully just not before tonight."

"It won't matter if they notice after tonight," Digg agreed.

But Oliver saw the uncertainty cross their tech expert's face even though it was only there for a second. "What?" he asked, moving back towards her.

Felicity sighed. "I don't know. I mean, I know we want to save Malcolm Merlyn... but don't you kind of want to know why the Triad is targeting him?"

Oliver nodded, again surprised by her insight, but not finding fault in it other than it shouldn't be something she'd think about. "That can wait. It's unlikely the Trial'll feel like talking tonight, but once Mister Merlyn's safe they will."

Felicity held his gaze for a long moment then nodded, before taking the cold-pack away from her shoulder again.

Except this time when Oliver moved to make her put it back, she tossed it towards Digg, who promptly caught it with a smirk almost as unimpressed as the archer's frown.

"I'm _fine_ , guys," she insisted then, standing up with no more concern for the fact that doing so put them even more in each other's personal space than he had—then again, it wasn't the first time when his proximity hadn't bothered her at all.

When she started to deliberately wheel her chair around him, Oliver relented and moved his own chair out of the way to let her roll straight back to the desk instead.

"You know," Diggle told her as he calmly held up the cold-pack she'd barely used, "This'll help with the pain."

"Maybe, but it'll give me mild hypothermia down here, too." Felicity grumbled as she sat down in her chair once it was in front of her computers again.

Both men stared at her. Yes, the basement under the club felt a bit cold, but it was a basement under a warehouse in the middle of the winter. It hadn't bothered Oliver or Diggle after the furnace was turned on a few months ago, something the construction workers overhead had appreciated as well, even if the Queens' personal accountant had left Oliver more than one griping message about it that'd led to the club receiving even more insulation than it otherwise might have just to spite the cent-counter. Now, with the club ready to open and a working thermostat set for... a number he'd never checked, Oliver had thought it was actually comfortable down here more than once. Then again, after some of the nights on Lian Yu, he supposed anything that didn't involve ice and snow would have to feel warm, and he'd never been especially vulnerable to the whims of temperature before that.

Before Oliver could decide whether he should respond to that as the complaint it was or treat it as an unreasonable rejection of first-aid—which, coming from him, even he knew would probably result in at least a glare, Digg was already headed toward the staircase that headed up into the club. Stopping at the base of said stairs to change the thermostat on the wall there.

"Oh," Felicity blinked as she noticed what their teammate was doing, then winced; obviously not having planned on complaining. Which only made Oliver wonder what else she was hiding, both under all the layers she'd wear when it was cold and otherwise. "No, I didn't mean—"

"Felicity, it's fine," Oliver interrupted, raising a hand to forestall the apologies and uncertainties he could see forming. Then he gestured to her computers. "So you can set everything up on a U.S.B?"

She bit her lower lip for a second, but then nodded and turned back to her computer with a sigh. "Yeah, just give me a few minutes."

Not liking being unable to see what she was doing, Oliver found himself moving over to stand just to the side of her again to watch her work.

Even watching her work up close, the only indication he could see of the injury she'd hidden from them even now was how careful she was about moving her shoulder. Her fingers were still dancing over the keyboard too fast for him to follow, confidently imputing commands and codes alike without pause. Other than being careful when she moved her whole torso, though, she almost seemed to be completely ignoring her shoulder.

For Oliver it had been years, of course, since physical pain had seemed like something that was impossible to ignore. But there was a _lot_ of pain over the course of those years that'd made that the case: from random injuries, to fighting, to outright torture more than once. And the idea that this small, brilliant, helpful girl might have any similar sorts of trauma in her past did _not_ sit well with him at all.

"Okay," Felicity said then, reaching into her purse to pull out a flashdrive with a strip of tape around it, which she pulled off before plugging it into one of the modems and hit another key that open a window he actually recognized; one that showed the progress of the program being downloaded onto the flashdrive. "Should take just another minute," she said as she spun around in her chair to look back at them again. "You'll just have to plug it into the right drive, which again I can actually show you at Q.C."

"How?" Diggle asked as he turned another chair to sit facing her; it took Oliver a second to figure out why, but when he realized looking up at either of them might make her strain her shoulders he sat down again also. "You just said Merlyn's computer setup is different, more secure than Q.C's?"

"No, I didn't," their tech sighed, before trying to explain. "I said that they have cyber security specialists on-staff; people who basically spend all their time protecting _Merlyn Global Group_ from hackers." Felicity started to shrug, but stopped before doing so would've made her wince again, before going on. "Most companies, like Q.C, only hire consultants for cyber security—the security software's setup and the general I.T department tries to maintain it, only calling for help when they really screw up."

"Like when you pulled an all-nighter on a Sunday night?" Oliver clarified, trying to keep his voice neutral as he did so, but not quite succeeding if her rolled eyes were any indication.

"No. That was just someone giving a technophobe unsupervised access to too much technology and somebody in accounting downloading porn at the same time—a bad combination for the network as a whole."

Oliver blinked at that, but decided not to ask. "So it has to be inconspicuous; somewhere it won't stand out, right?"

"That's right," their genius agreed. "Like I said, the RAT should give me all the control I need. But plugging in—"

"Is a good back-up plan," Oliver nodded. "Is it ready?"

"Yeah," Felicity confirmed without even turning to look at the screen to confirm it. Then again, it was probably supposed to start making noise if something was wrong and the only noise from behind her was the whir of the computers' fans and the even softer sound of the basement heating units working to warm the room up to whatever temperature Diggle had reset it at. "But we still need to go to Q.C to—"

"I know where to plug in, Felicity," Oliver interrupted, earning a blink from her even though she didn't look _that_ surprised. Though it took him a second to figure out why her cheeks reddened just enough to be noticeable in the poor basement lighting that the tech had already complained about several times but probably appreciated for the shadows it left now.

As her gaffes went, that one had barely been noticeable—and not just because she'd kept talking right through it—but it'd been there. More than once. And now he'd repeated it. In the context the technical terms were suited for, yes, but obviously that was more than enough fuel for her crush... he probably shouldn't find that endearing.

Felicity spun her chair back around so quickly that he saw the motion jar her torso as she jerked herself to a stop, and her soft gasp wiped away the small smiled that'd started to form. "Okay, but you have to let it download and then pull the drive."

Oliver nodded, "How long does it need?"

"Twenty, maybe thirty seconds," the girl answered promptly, then immediately tacked on; "As long as you plug into the right place."

Oliver rolled his eyes, but Diggle spoke up before he could decide on a response that wasn't either too amused or too sarcastic.

"Felicity, I know you want to finish the comm system you've been designing—"

"The what?" Oliver looked between the two, but Felicity didn't even look at him and Diggle went on like he hadn't interrupted.

"—but couldn't you use the basic setup you've already got to rig some sort of camera?" Digg shrugged when their I.T girl cocked her head to the side, clearly thinking it through. "We can use the phones he already has for now, and with a camera we'd be able to see what he's getting into."

Oliver liked that idea even less than her taking over the security systems to watch him that way, which was why they were supposedly talking about this in the first place.

Even if that weren't the case, the idea of her seeing everything from his point-of-view; all the people he'd attack and put-down, that she probably wouldn't be able to see in the context of _threat_ rather than _person_ , was a horrible idea. _Why_ would the ex-soldier even suggest it?

"No," Felicity surprised him by answering with a frown. "Not with the current system. I can't secure it without a full darkweb structure—a private, encrypted server—in place. Not completely," she shook her head. "I mean, the S.C.P.D's so far behind the times technologically it probably doesn't matter, it definitely didn't on the Dodger case. But if they bring in someone else? Like the F.B.I? That could change fast. Well, semi-fast. They're not entirely cutting edge all-around either." She nodded towards Oliver then. "Your weird, military-grade phones are secure from that, as long as you know who you're broadcasting through, which I'm _assuming_ you do. But an actual full comm system won't be secure till I've set up our server down here."

Oliver felt very out-of-the-loop despite Diggle mentioning something about communication earlier. But he could see the advantages of what she was talking about. Even better: he could hope that it might keep the tech genius preoccupied with setting up for a while, so it was worth asking, "What equipment do you need?"

Felicity blinked at him, "Nothing," she tapped something on the keyboard, then pulled the drive out of the modem and held it out to him. "It's all set. Just plug and play," she groaned as she finished. "And my brain is clearly fried down to gutter-level right now."

The billionaire accepted the drive, fighting a smile as he pressed, "I meant for the server. Don't you need special equipment?"

"Yeah... but I have it in my car," Felicity answered. "Well, mostly. I'm waiting for a few things, but—"

"Felicity, you can't just buy equipment for us at—"

"Relax, I'm literally constructing it myself; and I bulk-ordered the parts," she cut in without looking at him, leaning carefully back in her chair all the while. "Something you should do, by the way. It's a lot less suspicious looking than ordering exactly what you need when you need it online. If someone who knows what they're doing goes looking for it, they'll find it."

Oliver raised an eyebrow at that, "Are there actually that many people like you, with both the skills _and_ , somehow, the time?"

It made her blush again, clearly flattered, as he'd intended. Her skills certainly deserved the praise. Even if her insomniac tendencies seemed to rival his own and her spending might be completely unreasonable for what she made. If he knew she'd give him the receipts, let him figure out a way to reimburse her even if it was just in the form of coming up with bogus tech-jobs he could overpay her for, then he might not mind the purchases. But she still hadn't told him what the computer setup she'd already put in place had cost, and he knew it was more than the models you generally saw in stores.

"I'd guess not," Digg put in, redirecting the blonde's smile to him for a second before she looked back.

The beep from the computer must've been her program download completing, because Felicity tapped a key, then yanked the flashdrive out of the modem without turning away from them.

Oliver accepted it when she held it out to him, deciding at a glance that it'd go in a special pocket: it had Felicity's finger prints, and now his, on it after all. Something they should probably plan for it the future.

"So... what now?"

Obviously there was still plenty to talk about, but even with the gala almost a whole afternoon away at this point, there was still plenty to do on that front as well.

"I'll give Lance a call now," Oliver decided, picking up the encrypted phone he kept for that purpose and hitting the speed-dial to the only number on it. He waited a moment for the detective to pick up, which he did, without saying anything, so Oliver said; "The Triad have hired a contract killer."

" _Yeah?_ " Lance returned, unimpressed. " _You mean the one you put in the morgue? Congratulations, you're the talk of the station_ _ **again**_ _._ "

Oliver ignored the comment, "They hired one. They're going to hire another, detective."

Laurel's father hesitated only a moment before asking, " _Who's the target?_ "

"I'm trying to find out, but hitting dead ends," Oliver replied evenly, this lie at least one of the few that necessity made easy, even if the answer he was hiding could destroy his best friend. "I need you to put your people on it."

Not surprisingly, Lance balked at that, " _My people don't work for you. And come to think of it, neither do I._ "

"It's not about you and me, detective." Oliver reminded him of why he'd started to accept the information in the first place. "It's about saving a life."

" _Call me back when you got a name,_ " Lance ordered, then hung up.

Oliver double-checked to make sure the call had in fact disconnected, then set the phone down and looked at his partners. "Now we just have to get this," he held up the U.S.B, "into _Merlyn Global_ before the party starts."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Diggle opined, visibly thinking it over. " _Merlyn Global's_ security at the entrance will be lax on the ground floors with the caterers getting ready for the gala, but access to the higher levels will be harder."

"Harder," Oliver nodded. "Not impossible."

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V_.

"I think I have something," Felicity spoke up, making both of them look at the computers she'd gone back to typing at while their vigilante had been on the phone with the man in charge of catching him. " _Merlyn Global_ sometimes contracts work with Q.C, they have a few work orders open now."

"So?" Oliver wondered aloud, even though the unwanted realization was visibly forming on the billionaire's face as he, too, realized what she was about to suggest.

Not that John Diggle could blame him; Felicity's last venture into the field had gone far too close to going FUBAR for his peace of mind, too.

" _So_ ," Felicity replied evenly. "Two of them are for I.T problems."

And she said it like what she was suggesting but hadn't actually said yet made perfect sense. Unfortunately, the woman was too brilliant for any of her ideas to be completely without merit.

"Thought _Merlyn Global_ had a better I.T department?" Digg interjected before Oliver could completely reject her idea.

"Not _better_ ," their I.T girl rolled her eyes. "Their cyber security's more specialized and they don't have to deal with most of the stupid stuff general I.T gets, so yeah, of course that's better. But their I.T department itself actually isn't much better off than the S.C.P.D's. Well," she reconsidered that. "No, that's a little harsh. But they have a standing contract with _Queen Consolidated_ for this sort of thing. We have someone—Erika, actually—scheduled to head over there Monday morning. And she hates working outside of Q.C. She'd rather not leave her cubicle, actually, so she'd thank me for taking care of it—if she knew, I mean."

"Out of the question," Oliver finally told her, his face twitching in that way that told his bodyguard that he was forcibly holding back a frown—something he'd only seen him do around the Queen women, or Felicity Smoak. "Felicity, the point of setting this up is—"

"And how are either of you going to do it?" Felicity asked him, rolling her eyes as she went on. " _You_ obviously can't get in without being recognized," she gestured to Oliver, then to Diggle, "And there's a good chance their security people might recognize Digg, too."

"Their head of security, maybe," Diggle put in reasonably. "But most of the grunts don't put that much effort into their work, Felicity. Yeah, they'd recognize Oliver Queen, but take away my suit and my Q.C I.D and they won't know me from any other former soldier."

"Which might get you into the security office on Monday morning if they're hiring," Felicity pointed out. "But we need into the server before _tonight_." Her glare switched back to Oliver when he opened his mouth. "And don't even _think_ of saying you'll go in as the Hood. During the day. Right after telling Detective Lance you're looking into this and to be on the lookout."

The vigilante shook his head, " _Merlyn Global_ is closed for the day, Felicity. Nobody who's there now will recognize me with the right disguise."

And Diggle didn't know what else could hint more at some sort of prior experience with espionage, but the billionaire didn't fall back on that; instead it was the over-protective instincts that Digg didn't entirely disagree with that were given free reign.

"And you're not going—"

"It's the safest option!" Felicity interrupted insistently.

"You were just yelling at me for leaving evidence for the police to find, Felicity," Oliver tried to reason with her. "What do you think _you_ signing into Merlyn Global when it's closed, right before the gala that's probably going to be crashed by the Triad, will look like?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Either it'll look like you're working for the Triad, or your working for me! And it'd actually be _better_ for you, for all of us, if the S.C.P.D suspected you had ties to the Triad rather than the vigilante."

"They won't suspect anything if I do the work while I'm there," the tech insisted stubbornly. "And I can do it while downloading the RAT; that barely takes a minute."

"A consultation could take time we don't—"

"It'll take an hour, tops. Probably not even half that."

"You can't know that—"

"Yeah, I can," Felicity interrupted him yet again. "They actually filled out both work orders correctly. People are more careful about that sort of thing when they're dealing with another company. So they've already told me...well, not exactly what's wrong, but what _they_ thinks wrong, and they're only half right on one of them and completely wrong on the other but—"

"So it won't take long for someone from Q.C—"

"For _me_ to fix, yeah." Felicity insisted again. "One of the fixes any intern should be able to do, the other's a glitch I repaired in the Q.C software months ago." She held Oliver's gaze with her own stubborn glare. "That glitch will give me access to their system. Legitimate access."

" _Monitored_ access," Oliver corrected, his own glare still unwavering. "You won't be able to—"

"Their cyber security unit are specialists, Oliver. Unless some major catastrophe happens before I get there, they'll be off for the weekend. There's no reason for them to be actively monitoring the system when no one should be working. They won't even know about me being there before they sign back in on Monday."

"You just said _Merlyn Global's_ cyber security is too good to hack, even if they're not there." Digg spoke up again, deliberately keeping each word as weighted with calm as he could. Not that it really seemed to be helping their vigilante, but the archer's fist couldn't curl any tighter.

"Nothing is too good," Felicity replied stubbornly, rolling her eyes. "It's all code. And codes are written and meant to be rewritten. We just don't have the time for it."

"We don't _need_ any of this!" Oliver finally snapped, lashing out even as his tortuously trained and carefully controlled body locked down to avoid doing something he might regret.

Digg didn't think the archer would actually attack Felicity. He was too self-contained. And if Oliver wasn't already in love with the tech-girl, he was definitely falling: fast. Both were why his body was rigid with pent up aggression; aggravation at the idea of their I.T specialist putting herself anywhere near danger again storming threw every skin cell.

But John Diggle had seen P.T.S.D make too many good men do things they never should've done, never would've actually _chosen_ to do, and Oliver Queen had suffered boatloads of stress and trauma over the last five years. And Digg would hate himself if his inaction allowed anything to happen—though obviously not as much as Oliver would hate himself. So he cautiously closed the distance he'd left open till now, making sure he'd be to intervene if necessary.

That alone was more than enough to make Oliver back off. The archer immediately spun on his heel and stormed towards the med-table.

 ** _CRASH!_**

John and Felicity both winced as the metal table slammed into the ground, scattering supplies all around.

The ease with which the angry archer flipped it reminding Diggle he'd forgotten Felicity's request that all the furniture in the Foundry be bolted down. Though, thinking back, he wasn't sure how Felicity had ever guessed that that might be necessary down here. Could it really be obvious that the billionaire liked to break _things—_ to avoid breaking _people—_ when he lost it?

"Feel better?" Felicity asked dryly, sounding for all the world like she was commenting on the weather rather than her sort-of-boyfriend's temper tantrum.

"No," Oliver replied immediately, still not quite the growl that many in Starling City had learned to fear.

And their tech genius sighed. "Oliver, it's an easy job. And nothing is going to happen for hours. I'll be perfectly safe—"

"You should've been perfectly safe at the charity gala!" the archer snarled as he spun back around, then finished with an almost choked voice; "But you ended up with a bomb collar around your neck!"

Felicity's flinch at the memory was much more prominent than her reaction to the man's mess-making. But then she swallowed, pushed her shoulders back and held her head as she replied, "And _I'm fine_."

"Only because—"

" _Thanks_ to you." Felicity cut in again, and then she was standing again, moving so quickly it took the former soldier by surprise—but not nearly as much as her deft dodging of the hand he reached for her shoulder to stop her with did.

John blinked, completely thrown by the graceful twist she slipped around his hand with _—completely avoiding him_ without even looking; just shifting her weight so that she kept walking forward and his hand never found her shoulder to stop her before she'd gone by him and kept walking towards the man that was still keeping a chokehold on his fear and fury.

"I'm still here, Oliver," Felicity continued, words as calm and precise as her steady steps, but they didn't stop when she did, which was when she was standing right in front of him, still meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "My head's still attached to my shoulders. I _am_ _fine_."

Well, that was a morbidly weird way to define your physical well being. Very gallows humor, John thought, even though it was very literally accurate. Surprisingly it didn't earn him another glared glance from the vigilante. He was the one that'd mentioned what'd happened to the hostage in Spain, after all. Then again, Oliver was smart enough to know that Felicity would've come across that in any research she'd done herself too. Still, John's memory of the undisguised fear in her voice when she'd said, ' _I'm going to get_ ** _decapitated_** _, aren't I?_ ' wasn't one he remembered fondly.

"And I can do this. And while I'd appreciate your support, I don't require your approval." Felicity cocked her head to the side, then finished evenly, "So are you already forgetting that I joined you on my terms, or are we actually going to work like a team to keep your best friend's dad from dying?"

Not one word was babbled. And not one word was wrong. Even though each one hit Oliver harder than any physical blow could.

But this time the bodyguard didn't move to protect the girl from his employer, something inside of him suddenly much surer that he didn't need to. He couldn't bring himself to distract the archer from the argument that had to be concluded here and now.

"Fine," Oliver bit the words out. "But we're doing this my way."

"No. We're not," Felicity rolled her eyes as she spun around and walked back towards the computers. "Because your way would probably involve visiting Tommy's dad to talk about helping him make-up with Tommy or something like that, completely ignoring the fact that it'd be suspicious as hell. And my plan is both easier and guaranteed to work without attracting any undue attention."

"What happened to teamwork?" John asked, again before Oliver could growl at her, honestly a bit amused by her confidence as he watched her sit down again.

"Part of teamwork is letting every member of the team work," Felicity finished firmly.

The former soldiers found he couldn't argue with that point. He'd learned the value of teamwork before his time in the military, but the importance of it in situations like this had been driven home more while he was serving his country than when he was playing sports in school.

But Oliver Queen wasn't a soldier. Whatever the hell he'd been through in the past five years had turned him into one hell of a fighter, yes, but it'd also made him completely closed off. Something that could happen to soldiers, too, but without even being able to share any of that trauma—because doing so would only bring suspicion about him being the Hood back to him again—John wasn't entirely sure how to help the man recover.

Felicity, however, had already made leaps and bounds. That unnamable quality that made it all but impossible not to like her had drawn the tormented man in like a flower reaching for the sun. In the archer's case that flower was definitely a Venus flytrap—and not the harmless ones that survived on insects; more like the mutated, human-eating one from _Little Shop of Horrors_ that'd made him want to stay away from plants in general growing up, but even carnivorous plants were fond of the sun.

That Felicity also seemed to know how to handle him, somehow knew when she could push and when she couldn't, proved to John that she might really be able to help the still wounded young man with more than just finding his moral compass again.

Especially since the attraction between the two _—that was_ impossible not to see _—_ hadn't exploded yet. Truthfully, he'd half expected them to fall into bed together and then start avoiding each other as much as they could after the fact. That they _hadn't_ actually kind of amazed the ex-soldier. Because the pair of them were the most literal example of the word 'chemistry' between two people that he'd ever seen. Somehow, though, the looks at the start of their 'relationship' had seamlessly transitioned into intense stares, but were somehow never an issue. Not yet anyway.

Still, there were just as many reasons for them not to work out as there were reasons they could. And maybe John being glad that they weren't rushing it, weren't letting adrenaline or the extreme situations this 'mission' had inflicted on them so far dictate their pace, was more related to his own failed marriage than either of the two that weren't currently looking at each other. Well, Felicity was completely focused on her computers and pretending she wasn't aware of Oliver's scowl directed at the back of her head; a situation John remembered with Lyla more than once. The Diggles not being able to make their marriage work without a war to fight shouldn't really have anything to do with Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen, but it was hard for him not to see the comparisons. And thereby be grateful for the differences; because as awkward as their finally getting together might be, John did know it could work even with their 'mission' to save Starling City.

"Okay," Felicity broke the tense silence without turning around. "I'm scheduled to be at _Merlyn Global_ at two o'clock. That's a little over two hours, so I have to go get ready."

"Why?" John asked because Oliver was still scowling silently, which was actually starting to amuse him now that her points on letting her do her job and the safety of the timing involved had sunk in a little. "You're dressed fine for work."

"As me, yeah, but I'm going as _Erika_ , remember?" Felicity answered as she rose from her seat and reached for her purse. "So I need to change."

"Why are you going as Erika?" Oliver spoke up then, almost hidden confusion not quite covering his irritated worries.

"Because you didn't want anyone knowing I was there after all this, which makes sense," Felicity met his eyes with that sincere smile that made the vigilante's shoulder's loosen just a little. "And believe me, we're different enough that no one'll ever make the connection between us. Erika probably won't even mention someone else filling the work order for her under her name; she'll get paid for it and she won't have to leave her cubicle, so she'll be happy."

"Until the S.C.P.D come to question her and find out she was never there," the vigilante pointed out.

"Until then, yeah," Felicity shrugged. "But that'll be after all of this, and after I've had control of the security system and rewritten the log-in data for my visit, and yours, so..." she finished with another shrug.

Digg was relieved to see that Oliver was finally starting to relax a little bit more. At least as much as he ever did when it came to anything related to his vigilantism. Because this all made perfect sense.

"You'll need her Q.C I.D," Oliver pointed out, his voice calmer and more reasonable even with that slight edge of worry still forming an almost-frown.

"I'll print one after I've changed," Felicity agreed as she headed for the door. "With my picture, obviously."

"It doesn't have to be—"

"No, but it'll be easier if it is," the girl cut him off, as if whatever training and experiences he'd obviously had in espionage made no difference to her. Then again, despite all her own secrets hidden behind bright blue eyes and even brighter smiles, maybe Felicity Smoak didn't have the life experiences to recognize the talents from part of his history that Oliver wouldn't talk about. "I'll need to buy a wig though."

"Why?" John asked, blinking right alongside Oliver at the declaration.

"Because my hair's nowhere near as long as hers anymore, and I don't want to dye mine black for the afternoon." Felicity replied matter-of-factly as she crossed the room towards the outer entrance her car was parked by, only to stop just before she would've stepped out of their line of sight to look back at Oliver. "Oh, and can I borrow your bike?"

That made the billionaire blink again, "...What?"

John, meanwhile, was trying not to smirk as he saw all too clearly that this afternoon, while stressful, was probably going to be a lot more entertaining than one might expect.

XXX.

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

Oliver still wasn't sure how he'd let himself be talked into this. How he'd let her talk him into even considering it. But, as he parked his bike in front of Felicity's house, he also knew that neither the I.T genius or the soldier he'd let into this part of his life would be swayed now.

Deep down, the archer also knew that if he were the one going in to set this all up, he wouldn't even care. With the memory of Felicity's wide, fearful eyes still fresh in his mind, though, the idea of risking her at all wasn't easy to stomach. It was less than a week ago that a bomb collar had become her unwanted neckwear courtesy of a jewel thief and Oliver's lack of attention to her safety. That was what had him dreading every second of what should be a simple, problem-free job. Truthfully though, he probably wouldn't like this even if everything had gone as planned at that auction.

One of the least eye-catching of the Queen car's pulled up beside him, and the window rolled down for Digg to deliver dryly, "You should probably knock."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "We're still early."

Diggle scoffed, "She's not getting ready for a date," his 'bodyguard' smirked at him. "You still haven't taken her on one of those."

Oliver grimaced. "Really not the time, Digg."

"Maybe not," the older man shrugged. "But you're the one that's avoiding telling her you're changing the plan again." He raised an eyebrow. "Not saying I disagree with the change, but it's probably not something you want to tell her out here on the sidewalk."

"Right," Oliver grimaced as a glance around confirmed that no less than four of Felicity's neighbors were outside doing yard work like most suburban people supposedly did on Saturday afternoons.

While the high school kid that was stomping around right next door with the lawnmower roaring away might not notice if they did start shouting at each other, the old lady that was gardening across the street from the kid had probably been sneaking glances Oliver's way since he stopped, if not before.

Oliver forced himself to dismount then, not taking his helmet off and grabbing the second one he'd brought for Felicity before he walked up to her front door and rung the bell.

"It's open!" she yelled from inside.

Automatically, Oliver's frown deepened even as he turned the handle to let himself in. This was yet another example of how little care Felicity Smoak seemed to take with her safety outside of anything to do with saving Starling City.

Sure, the background checks on all her neighbors hadn't turned up anything bad. The newest one being a recent addition to the ranks of the S.C.P.D's detectives, but that wasn't actually bad for her safety, just noteworthy because it had the potential to be inconvenient. Either way, with the Glades right next door to this neighborhood she should be more careful. Not that having the door unlocked during the day was anywhere near as risky as jogging after midnight, but it still wasn't safe either.

Once inside Oliver took his helmet off before calling back, "You should lock your door." He probably shouldn't push, since he had come inside to avoid having the possible coming confrontation out in front of her neighbors.

But fortunately she didn't seem to mind; because she actually laughed. "Oliver, it's Saturday afternoon, not night, and the whole neighborhood's up and about."

He was trying to figure out a reply that might make her see his point—and, really, 'better to be safe than sorry' wasn't a point that should require explaining—but she came out of her bedroom halfway through that sentence and his brain stopped working for several seconds.

Even as Oliver stared at her, briefly bewildered, it did occur to him that he didn't even _like_ the gothic look. Except... well, he never had, but apparently he _did_... when it was Felicity.

The long black hair he was expecting; she'd said she'd be buying a wig to 'make the disguise.' But somehow his mind had translated that to mean his I.T girl's golden hair would be hidden with a Halloween costume that she thought would work for this sort of thing. Granted, he couldn't quite expect that she'd be that far off in anything, but... he had _not_ anticipated _anything_ like the dark beauty that was smiling at him with purple lips.

The purple lips were a popping contrast on her pale skin. Skin that was slightly paler than normal. Also setting off the exaggerated eyes that all but defined the 'Goth' look. Not that Oliver knew nearly enough about that to apply it himself (despite the girl's earlier reference to the paint he wore under the hood), he just recognized it when he saw it.

It was brilliant and bold, and suddenly made Oliver realize that Felicity was hiding herself with more than just the glasses she didn't need. Her normal make-up was so subtle; precisely pretty. Subtlety that meant that the only obvious difference when he caught her without her make-up on—like after trying to cry herself to sleep post a near-death encounter—the only obvious difference was her lips. The only other element of her everyday wear that stood out as much as her bold lipsticks was the frequently changed but never quite coordinated color of her nails. The black nail polish she had on now was one she'd worn before, but beside a pink blouse it'd been odd, while it fit _this_ look perfectly. And like everything about the Goth look, this said: 'look at me!'

Back in Oliver's real playboy days the bright wigs—or occasionally actually very brightly dyed hair—had always been a pain to wake up to since he'd had a hangover every time and pink hair wasn't something he found attractive sober, let alone hung over. He couldn't actually remember noticing any of the dark-haired goths. On Felicity, he thought, it might be cute, but he'd never suggest it... and the dark wig she'd chosen to supposedly make herself look like another I.T girl from Q.C was almost artwork. Blending blacks and dark purples with a few brighter purples mixed in, maybe to match her make-up?

And as Oliver looked into those beautiful eyes, he had to wonder if this 'disguise' might actually be the real Felicity Smoak. With _her_ hood pulled back.

It didn't really fit though. The dramatic black mascara and purple shadows didn't hide her beauty and better than her normal glasses did. In fact, it drew attention just as much as her lips did, which was probably the point...

And now she was smirking. Felicity's smile was definitely more of a satisfied smirk right now. "So?" she arched one dark eyebrow—obviously those she _had_ dyed black to avoid any noticeable difference to the wig. "What'd you think?"

 _That_ was a question Oliver Queen never liked getting from a woman. _Any_ woman. Especially when it involved a woman's appearance. It was one thing to notice the effort they made and remember to compliment them, but somehow when they actually _asked_ it seemed harder to say the right thing. Maybe because he was never entirely sure there _was_ a right thing to say some, maybe most, of those times.

It also seemed like an odd thing for his I.T genius to ask, until he noticed she was holding something out to him, not fishing for compliments.

Oliver immediately reached out to take the items, which were two I.D badges from _Queen Consolidated_ , both of which appeared to have originated from his family's company.

Both had Felicity's face in the photo, but her name was only on her real card. The card for Erika Alderson, of course, was the fake. She was a lower level employee at Q.C; both hired almost a hundred employees after Felicity and titled below her. The statistics and numerical data were likely hers.

The image didn't do Felicity justice—it flattened out her vibrant face in a way that the Gothic make-up she was wearing now didn't. She'd changed the colors up a little after taking the picture. The one on the I.D had dark red lips rather than purple, and he thought her eye-shadow might be gray. It was clearly her, but it also played up the stereotype of I.D images not being flattering. Deliberately, he could see; the small, not full-out smile she'd forced for her actual I.D did less than it could to counter the boring background and flattening lamination.

Oliver's eyes went back to the statistics, since the guards should focus on them, then he looked at her. "She's taller than you."

"Thus my heels," Felicity nodded, indicating the boots that looked more like weapons than footwear, even mostly hidden underneath her form-fitting black jeans. "No one can really figure a woman's height when she's wearing heels like this, you know, not exactly anyway."

Oliver swallowed as the gesture made his eyes trail down those jeans, the question of why she didn't just change the data slipping his mind. The heeled boots only helped display Felicity's slim, shapely legs in all the right ways... except he wasn't supposed to be looking at her legs right now. When he forced his eyes back up, he caught that small satisfied smirk again, the dark purple paint on them making it impossible not to notice. "You look... nice," he finished diplomatically, not wanting to make the already uncomfortable day worse.

"Thank you," she accepted the compliment with a nod, turning to grab a black leather jacket he hadn't noticed—or seen before—off the coat rack right next to the door.

"But, um, is this... appropriate?" Oliver asked, not letting his eyes scan down her slender curves; displayed all too well in the tight jeans and the purple (probably polyester) top she was sliding the coat over. "For work, I mean."

"Erika's worn a lot worse to Q.C before," Felicity chuckled. "There's a whole bunch of reprimands in her file—she's very into the freedom of expression by what you wear sort of thing."

"But if you don't look like an I.T specialist from Q.C—"

"That's what that's for," Felicity interrupted as she grabbed both I.D's back from him, leaving her own to hang on the coat rack she'd just taken the leather coat from, and putting the other one on, drawing his attention to the large pendant that was hanging over her chest.

Oliver looked away quickly as he realized he was looking right at her cleavage, which the v-cut of the clinging top didn't hide. At all. In fact, the contrast of pale skin to dark material made popped just as much as her lipstick and the rest of the ensemble. But he wasn't looking.

"Felicity," Oliver tried again, even though he knew he was arguing now more because he disliked the idea of sending her on any sort of assignment looking like _that_.

It was somehow worse than her outfit for the charity gala—the little golden dress that'd been so very her; glossy and glittering. Then again, if he'd actually picked her up for that he might've wanted her to change then, too, but that he knew would've been unreasonable. He had an actual point here.

"M.G security might not let you in if—"

"They'll let me in, Oliver," Felicity cut him off again, even as she reached for the spare helmet he was holding.

Oliver turned to keep it out of her reach, "You can't know that. And you can't cause a scene, that'll just—"

"I won't need to," Felicity crossed her arms, almost like she was trying to make him look again. "With M.G setting up for the spotlight, the guys on the desk today won't want to 'cause a scene' either. At most they might ask for my number."

That didn't make Oliver feel better, but she babbled on before he could muster an answer, purple lips rolling words through as freely as pink ones did.

"And, like you said, this is the weekend crew. Almost all the M.G employees have the weekend off."

"Except security," Oliver shook his head, locking gazes with her both to try and make her yield and to avoid looking at the rest of her again. "They're there to stop exactly what you're—what we're trying to do."

"No they're not. Not really," Felicity wrinkled her nose; making Oliver wonder if he'd ever seen her do that before while she went on. "The security guards have nothing to do with _cyber_ security, Oliver. I mean, they'd stop anyone from stealing a computer, or something like that, but none of them would even know if the company _was_ hacked. Let alone have any idea of how to stop it." She tugged her fake I.D back up from where it was resting right by her cleavage—was that deliberate? Weren't those lanyards usually longer?—and waived it around before letting it fall again. "They'll scan my card, their system will confirm it with Q.C security, who'll check the database, and probably okay it without even looking as soon as the barcode registers as accurate. Even if they do look at the profile, the barcode is off from Erika's real one by a digit so it'll bring up the false file I've placed with that photo, which will delete itself before the party tonight. And if there's some bored new guy at Q.C who's really, _really_ diligent they might check the work-orders to see why I'd be at M.G, but they probably won't. And that's it. I'm in. And an hour later—or less, probably less—I'm out."

"All right, but if they don't want to let you in," Oliver held up the hand that wasn't holding her helmet to forestall the protests, "For _any_ reason. You're turning around and walking back out. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Felicity replied, but the shrug that her leather coat emphasized denied it. "Can I have my helmet now?"

"In a minute," Oliver instead pulled the bug he'd pulled out of his ARGUS supplied gear to offer it instead.

"I'm not wearing that," the now gothic girl said immediately.

"This is a—"

"I know what it is," the not-blonde cut him off wryly. " _I'm_ the tech girl, remember? I'm _not_ wearing it."

" _Fel-iss-city,_ " Oliver half-sighed, half growled her name out, and was surprised to see the corners of her dark lips twitch up till he went on. "Digg and I aren't comfortable—"

" _Digg_ trusts me, Oliver." She cut him off again, now those purple-painted lips were scowling as she turned away from him, walking around her couch before turning back to him as she sat down. " _You're_ the one that can't seem to do that."

"I trust you," he answered softly, honestly meaning it. So honestly the words had slipped out without a single thought. Because he _did_ trust her.

Even with all the secrets she obviously had but didn't want to share.

Even knowing that the background check he'd done on her months back probably wasn't worth the paper he could print it on because if there was anything worrisome in her past, she was more than capable of erasing all digital trails.

There was just something about her, that first time he saw her working—in the middle of the night—at Q.C. And again when he found her working after hours, again, years later; when he'd introduced himself with a smile that came all too easily in response to her wide eyes and the odd sight of the pen she'd forgotten to take out of her mouth until she actually needed to answer him. Oliver couldn't exactly define it; it was just something he'd known on an instinctual level—something he still knew.

And it wasn't just the attraction Diggle was watching sizzle between them like they were his own personal rom-com. Oliver knew _that_ well enough to recognize it, that was why it kind of scared him. If that was all it was, well... either he could ignore it or give in. But it was more than noticing she was hot or liking the way she watched him on the salmon ladder.

It was the smiles she surprised, or sometimes didn't surprise, out of him.

It was the trust in her eyes even as she challenged him.

The fact that she _did_ challenge him...

And that her obvious care, too. Even though she really did care too much.

"No. You trust that I won't call Detective Lance or anyone else that'd arrest you," Felicity shook her head, too slightly for her dark mane to move much with the motion, but the black locks still seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sunlight from the window. "But you don't trust me to do my job unless it's on your terms."

Oliver stared at her, not liking the implication at all; especially since he recognized that there was some truth to it. After a moment, he finally walked around to her couch, too, sitting down next to her and locking gazes, again, before attempted reassurance; "Yes, I do," he tried to insist. "I _do_ trust you, Felicity. And I know how good you are."

She only sighed. "No, you don't, Oliver..." she paused, then continued carefully, "I graduated from M.I.T with a perfect G.P.A. That's not easy. And it covered both my masters in computer science, and cyber security; _and_ my doctorate once I finally finished my thesis last year."

Oliver didn't let himself blink as he held her gaze, "Congratulations?" he wasn't sure what else he could say to that. He knew she was a lot smarter than him. Even before she cocked her head to the side and pursed her pink lips in clear disbelief after pointing out the bullet holes in Deadshot's laptop. He'd seen her impressive degrees and P.h.D in the credentials listed in her Q.C file, alongside her intimidating I.Q score it'd guaranteed that he knew that the girl who talked to herself and called his picture 'cute' was a genius.

"Thanks, but not the point." Felicity shook her head enough that her hair did move this time. Surprisingly, the motion didn't seem to bother her shoulder much even though it had to pull at it. "The point, is that I know _computers_. You know I do. I'm _your_ girl—I mean, not—never mind. I'm your tech girl. That's what made you first come for me, and why you kept come-ing..." she trailed off with a wince as she realized where her mouth had wandered once again (and really just how often her tongue wandered that way did make his wonder), but shook it off this time without apologizing, instead demanding, "So _why_ can't you trust me to know what to do when our problem is in _my_ field of expertise?"

Oliver sighed, "Felicity, you're not hacking _Merlyn Global_ from the Foundry. You're pretending to be someone else to get inside and..." he grimaced, shaking his own head. "You have _no idea_ what could happen."

This time her purple lips twitched like she wasn't sure what she wanted to do with them. Before she rolled her eyes again, which was also emphasized by her new look. "Oliver," she started with his name again, as if doing so made the point more absolute than her firm, no-nonsense tone did on its own. "You can't keep me locked up in the Hood Cave."

"We're not calling it that," was his immediate response, and Oliver continued with it even though he knew it was even more irrelevant than some of her adorable, amusingly distracting babbles. "It's not even a cave."

She wrinkled her nose again, "The Hood Basement just doesn't sound as good."

"We're not—what's wrong with calling it 'the Foundry'?" he finally demanded to know. "That's what it is."

"No. It's not," Felicity immediately shook her head again, but her black glittery locks didn't move as much with the motion when they had to slide across her couch back to do so. "That's what it was. Now it's going to be your nightclub, with your secret base of vigilante operations underneath. But that's way too much of a mouthful all the time; even for me. And S.B.O.V.O.U just sounds stupid. So does 'SBOVOU,' unless you want people to think there's some very, very V.I.P spa down there, and that's probably not a great—"

"We're way off topic," Oliver had to stop her as he glanced at the clock. "Please, Felicity. Just put the earpiece in. So I— _we_ know you're safe."

The genius glanced at the micro-earwig as he held it out, then glanced at the clock herself, pursing her purple lips, then inquired; "That's one-way, right? You just hear what I'm saying? Cause the two-way's a lot harder to secure, that's why I haven't—"

"I know," Oliver cut her off. "And yes, it's only one-way. So Digg and I will know if you're in trouble."

He'd rather use two-way communication and just not worry about anyone hearing; maybe revert to only speaking when necessary or in some sort of code. But he'd known Digg was right when the ex-soldier pointed out that their tech girl could only be insulted by that. Especially since the vigilante wasn't interested in wearing any similar sort of device under his hood regularly. Not that that'd stopped him from deliberately omitting that only hers was one-way.

"Okay," Felicity finally accepted the communicator, pushing some of her dark fake hair back to put it in her ear.

Oliver slipped his own earwig in at the same time, but kept watching to make sure she secured it correctly. Then had to blink as she pulled her hand back. "That's new," he said, one hand reaching to keep her hair out of the way without even thinking about it.

Because the industrial bar that he'd noticed a few times—pierced through and twirling under the upper shell of her ear—was gone, and in its place was what looked like _an arrow_. A _green_ arrow.

How had he not noticed it before?

Thinking back, Oliver tried to remember her appearance before this dramatic change. All he could really remember though was the rolled up sleeve of that maroon blouse when it'd revealed the bloody bandages he'd replaced. Well, that, and her pink lips pursed in the same annoyance that'd had her glaring at the computer screens when she'd been refusing to tell them how she'd been hurt other than the outright lie that she'd 'accidentally bumped into something' in the dark outside Verdant.

Oliver had to focus on the new interest then to quell the rush of rage that was still simmering deep down at the idea of whoever had helped her trip, with a knife in hand. Had to study the new accessory intently, to avoid wondering about how she'd gotten away from that sort of situation with just a scratch.

'Just a scratch' sound wrong. But that was because it looked more painful on her soft skin than it ever felt in his harder flesh. Sure, he didn't not feel the pain when someone tortured him, or stabbed him, or shot him. But seeing _her_ hurt... hurt more. Especially when it begged the question of _why_ she'd hidden it, was still hiding it...

Except he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about her new earring.

It was a straight line of emerald-colored metal with what was clearly supposed to be an arrowhead shot into the shell of her ear near her head, diagonally down and again through the outer ear's edge; the fletching by her head so detailed he could make out the nock that each individual fletch merged with—all a lighter green like the arrows he made himself. And the arrowhead looked like the ones he forged, too; if it were shaped sharply it could be a near exact replica in miniature. But it wasn't actually a weapon, even if the sight of it stunned him, and given how it was likely inserted and secured an actual piercing-point would be injurious.

The message it sent... even Oliver Queen, four-time-Ivy-League-drop-out, couldn't miss. And it wasn't just because of the cupid comments the media had, for some reason, stirred up while referencing the vigilante around Valentine's Day—something that would probably always confuse him, but had amused his teammates to no end. Though Felicity, at least, had made a slight effort to hide her amusement in those very early days after she found out the truth about him.

Oliver would never choose to aim an arrow at Felicity, but the fact that she'd chosen to place it in herself; visibly marking herself as...

But he couldn't think about that, either, because that little green arrow did deliver a message. One that couldn't be properly acknowledged, let alone discussed, in the limited time they had right now.

So Oliver went back to the only other thing he could think of, "Someone really dresses like that at Q.C?" he managed to ask it like his surprise was really directed at that idea, rather than the sight she'd made of herself for this afternoon.

Felicity laughed lightly, "Yup," she shrugged; and he was actually glad to see the careless gesture—because a shrug involved the shoulders more than a headshake, and she didn't wince like the small cut on her shoulder was still a source of significant pain at that move either. "I like to blend in with my skirts and glasses, but she likes to stand out." She paused a moment, then added quickly. "And my blouses. Or dresses. And shoes, too. I mean, I don't go to work without any of those. Stevenson probably wouldn't mind if I did, but—"

"Who's Stevenson?" Oliver interrupted her babble to latch onto the name, because of the slight edge of dislike he could hear in her voice as she said it more than anything else.

"My sup—I mean, just someone I work with." The dislike shifted to outright nervousness again as she changed her answer. "Shouldn't we be going? There could be traffic."

Oliver was actually much more interested in trying to drag more details about work—and whoever 'Stevenson' was—out of her. But he knew better than to push now. It wouldn't do any good, for their working relationship, their current mission or the future ones. So he'd wait. "Sure," the archer agreed, holding his secondary helmet out to her. "But you're riding with me."

"Oliver—"

He cut her off again, "Felicity, you don't need to arrive alone, and it'll give me a reason to stay close."

The dark black make-up on top of the pale background she'd somehow made of her skin really did make her eyes... _more_ somehow. Not bigger or brighter or anything literal like that, just _more_.

But he still held her gaze for the several seconds she looked at him, knowing he was right and not willing to back down, till her purple lips finally formed a sigh.

"Alright, but I'm gonna have to say you're my boyfriend, then."

Oliver blinked at her, barely noticing the undisguised laugh of their third teammate (who'd heard every word since they'd each activated their earwigs), staring at her even as she twisted her fake hair to tuck it up into the helmet, completely hiding her face from sight. "What?"

"I show up on a nice bike by myself, the guards'll compliment my taste and flirt with me," Felicity explained evenly, like every word was obvious. "I show up with a guy on a motorbike who's obviously no push over, and they wouldn't be doing their job if they didn't ask a few more questions." She tilted her head a little, her new look now mostly hidden by the dark helmet visor as she took in the confused look he wasn't trying to hide. "If I say you're just a friend, or just my ride or something like that, they're gonna keep asking because they should still be suspicious. After all, I'm gonna be there for at least an hour, why would you wait around outside?"

"And telling them I'm your boyfriend fixes this how?" Oliver asked, the annoyance in his voice related more to the fact that Digg was still chuckling out in the car than the idea itself.

Felicity of course couldn't hear the chuckles, so her voice stayed unembarrassed and matter-of-fact as she explained just like she might tell him how a computer program worked. "Because the black leather and bike thing goes together enough to make it look like we go well together, and if you're my boyfriend you're more obliged to be there waiting when I get out than any regular friend would be."

" _As in you'll be sleeping on the couch if you're not,_ " Diggle tacked on while she turned towards the door, making Oliver quickly put his own helmet back on because it made it much it easier to hide any of his own reactions to both the bizarre beauty he was following outside and the amused teammate that apparently couldn't bite his tongue anymore. " _Course, for you that'd be a step in the right direction._ "

Oliver rolled his eyes as he stepped through the doorway when Felicity held it open, turning to watch her close and lock it before she offered him the key.

"Here, take it," she told him, explaining as he obediently pocketed it. "It'd be a big reach, but it's better not to risk me leaving my spare house key anywhere today."

"Okay..." Oliver agreed hesitantly, trying not to put too much thought into it. But that was hard when she was giving him her house key right after telling him he was playing her boyfriend and wearing a green arrow in her ear.

She was being so blasé, so unembarrassed about it, he couldn't treat it like any of the innuendoes she sometimes dropped without meaning to. At the same time, though, he couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he was glad she couldn't see his face anymore than he could see hers thanks to their visors.

Digg's appreciative whistle was only just low enough not to irritate his eardrums as headed for the motorcycle, bringing their black-clad I.T girl into his line of sight as she zipped her jacket up, but it still irritated him when the older man added, " _Damn, she really went all-out, didn't she?_ "

Oliver couldn't let himself answer, even though a comment about her now hidden make-up of the moment almost begged to be said. But he couldn't say anything, because if he did he knew it'd be too reactionary for Felicity not to instantly realize his own earwig and Diggle's were two-way, channeled to the same frequency as hers, which she claimed couldn't be completely secured without some special computers she hadn't setup yet.

While Oliver recognized that whatever she planned on setting up would be superior to this, though, all the gear he'd gotten from ARGUS—once he'd checked to make sure it hadn't been tampered with by anyone other than him—was state-of-the-art. _Years_ , at least, ahead of anything the local police could come close to. And being able to communicate would enable the pair to coordinate their response if something _did_ happen.

Oliver had hesitated on changing that part of the plan. Because the original plan would've allowed him to be waiting nearby already hooded up. But in the bright sunlight this Saturday afternoon, the infamous green hood wouldn't cast sufficient shadows even with grease paint. A man in blue jeans and leathers, clearly outfitted for the motorcycle he was waiting by, would be much less noticeable even if not removing his helmet would make diligent guards wary of him. Whether the identifier of being the I.T girl's boyfriend actually reassured them or not.

"This isn't the bike you usually ride," Felicity's observation made him look at her again in time to watch her run pale fingers along the black leather seat like she was caressing the soft surface.

"No," Oliver confirmed unnecessarily. "The Ducati's design makes it too unique for missions."

"But perfect for the billionaire playboy you want everyone to think you still are," Felicity nodded, still sliding her pale fingers along the leather seating again, like they had the time to pet inanimate objects. Watching those black-nailed fine fingers slide along the leather though seemed to have made his tongue too heavy to talk. "So this is your 'work' bike?"

Oliver tried a nod when she turned her head back towards him, but when she just kept watching with her hidden blue eyes, he forced a swallow to clear his throat, then said; "Yeah."

"All black's probably good," Felicity approved, her volume dropping as the roar from the lawn mower next door cut out while she bent over the bike; obviously studying the machine while his eyes tried to stay focused on the back of her helmet because it seemed like the safest place to look right now. "I'll setup some tech for the plates though."

"What's wrong with the mud?" Oliver gestured to the plate that was just dirty enough to make the identifying digits nearly impossible to distinguish.

"Other than the rest of the bike being clean as a whistle?" Felicity shook her head again as she twisted to look up at him as she stood from her inspecting, affecting perch. "Any cop that sees that can pull you over and slap you with a ticket, which you don't want with this bike. Whereas the right device will only hide your plates from other digital devices, not eyesight."

The advantages of that were too obvious to deny, but Oliver hadn't thought such things actually existed outside of T.V shows. Neither his time with ARGUS or the Bratva, or anywhere else, had taught him otherwise. "Where should I get one?"

"Get one?" Felicity snorted, placing her hands on her hips now. "Are you sure you aren't trying to be caught?" she waived any response he might've given off before he could open his mouth. "I'll make you one, but the one I'm wearing will be fine for today."

Oliver had to blink, again, at that. "The one you're wearing?" In his honest confusion, he almost missed the subtle shift in her stance—her neck turning as she glanced a bit behind her and her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly in agitation—even as he asked. "Why do you—"

"It's a hobby," she cut him off, then reached out to grab his hand, managing to tug him closer to the bike with a hard jerk only because she caught him by surprise and he didn't want to hurt her. "Come on, we should go before anymore of my neighbors notice us."

Oliver obediently climbed on the bike, kicking the side stand back up and balancing the weight with his own body as he hit the starter and held the brakes without thought, instead glancing around as the engine roared to life. Both to avoid paying too much attention to her mounting behind him and to try to find what'd upset her.

The lawn mowing kid was still outside even though the lawn was done; but he stopped drooling—well, staring, at least—when Oliver's covered gaze turned to him.

The old lady across the street was still sneaking glances.

There was a couple that'd shown up while Oliver was inside, their suburban backed into the driveway across from Felicity's other neighbor; they were too preoccupied with unloading what looked like at least a month's worth of groceries to pay any attention to the pair on the motorbike. If they were going to pay attention to anything, it should be the little kid that'd escaped the backseat with what looked like a bag of flour and a bottle of soda, but maybe he was just helping his parents bring the groceries in.

Nothing else had changed on the street.

So what had made the gothed-up I.T girl tense just like she had that night at the restaurant when Tommy's birthday party had been crashed by his father?

"You're supposed to go now!" Felicity called over the flawless rumbles, cutting into his thoughts, but it didn't distract him from her much more distracting arms wrapping around his waist; almost as snuggly fitting as her thighs on either side of his own.

" _Yeah, Oliver,_ " Diggle's comment was laughed chidingly; clearly he wasn't going to even try to be serious here. " _Keep your head in the game._ " Then again, in his mind there wasn't any danger outside of Felicity's house.

Oliver wouldn't think there was either, if he hadn't sensed that familiar, unexplained sudden shift in Felicity's behavior that'd set his own already tumultuous instincts on edge. He might've thought he'd imagined it, might've been able to convince himself, if not for the fact that the coolly confident disguised girl now seemed to be hiding her already hidden head by pressing her visor against his shoulders.

But the drooling teenager was as harmless as the little old lady and the oblivious couple with their kid, so what was she hiding from?

Oliver couldn't see anything, though, and Felicity obviously wasn't going to say something, so he called back to her, "You know how to—"

"I'll be fine!" she interrupted him again, but then she added; "Trust me!"

And Oliver couldn't do anything other than shift out of neutral and get moving. He headed down the street, speeding up much more slowly than he normally would both because he was still looking around and he was silently testing his passenger.

He shouldn't be shocked that she could ride. Not when she'd asked to borrow a bike for this, intending to ride it on her own. Still, the easy way she moved with his every motion; like a feather floating with the wind, did surprise him for those first few minutes he spent getting used to having her behind him.

Even at the start, when she wasn't looking over his shoulder like most would—instead keeping her face pressed between his shoulder blades until they turned off her street just after her newest neighbor turned in—made her easy movements all the more impressive. Her arm hugged his waist steadily, tightening just a bit when the road demanded it and then releasing that little bit again when she was supposed to.

There didn't seem to be any need for signals, or communication in general, which was a good thing because turning on the two-way communicators in their helmets probably would've put the comms in their ears on the fritz and then Felicity would've expected to examine them. The chances of her _not_ noticing his (and Digg's) were different, two-way models from hers were non-existent. The chances she wouldn't notice that the difference was mainly in their settings, which allowed for continuous dual-way communication were even less so.

So it was a good thing Felicity was more than comfortable leaning into the turns with him, her slender body mimicking the motions of his muscles like they'd planned every turn while discussing the road map beforehand.

Was he really that readable?

Or was Felicity Smoak just that good at following his lead?

Oliver puzzled over those thoughts even as he weaved in and out of traffic, more cautiously than he ever really did alone; also puzzling over the fact that Felicity actually seemed to be relaxing more and more as they rode.

Not because she was getting used to riding with him, he didn't think. Not when she'd been good at that from the first. No. It seemed more like the closer they got to _Merlyn_ _Global_ the better she felt.

Oliver swallowed as the thought occurred to him; Did she really worry more about him trusting her than what would happen if this supposedly simple job went wrong? Granted, an immediate threat to her life wasn't likely, but she could lose her liberty if she was caught. Especially since she wouldn't be willing to give him up; no matter what she was hiding, Oliver was sure of that. Though the thoughts all together were more than a little painful to swallow.

The ride to _Merlyn Global_ was too short _and_ too long. Too long for him to focus just on the ride; each turn came with a question, and so did every stop and start. But it was too short for those questions to come with answers, too. At least before they came to a complete stop curbside to their destination, where preparations for the party tonight were visibly underway.

Instead of dismounting right away, though, Felicity stayed seated behind him, her arms not moving until Oliver made himself start to twist to look at her after he'd killed the engine. Then she was moving away, her hold on him shifting to use him for balance till her heeled feet were on the sidewalk, then sliding away. Only then did she take her helmet off in a smooth motion that he blinked at because he thought she'd be more careful with the wig, but it must be secured somehow because it was still perfectly in place pretending to be her real hair over the contrasting make-up job that seemed to have turned her into an entirely different person that he still thought might have a few more real elements than the much less adorned face that'd haunted his dreams for a while now.

Not at all surprisingly, Diggle whistled against as he saw almost the full-affect of their I.T girl's transformation, " _Wow. If I hadn't followed you all the way here from her house, I'd think you'd picked up the wrong girl._ "

Oliver, of course, couldn't respond as he accepted the helmet when she handed it to him and set it on the rear-rack since he had no intention of going anywhere without her wearing said helmet and riding behind him again first. He understood Diggle's surprise; the transformation was unexpected, but he didn't think he'd personally have any trouble recognizing those eyes no matter how she tried to disguise them.

When she started to turn towards the building, though, he gently caught her hand in his gloved grip to stop her.

"Hey," he flipped his visor up as she looked back at him, knowing it was safe because he'd already cased the building's security in so far as he could from the outside and the outdoor cameras only covered as far as the front steps, which were several feet away. "If anything happens, I'm right outside."

Felicity smiled at him, and even with the purple-instead-of-pink lips and the gothic eye-makeup, that smile was still sunshine. "I know," then she went up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks."

Then she was striding away, and Oliver only managed to stop blinking after her by closing the visor after he'd realized he was staring at the very nice—and deliberately swaying?—view provided by her form-fitting dark jeans as she climbed the steps.

" _Hiding evidence?_ " Digg chuckled through the comm.

Oliver rolled his eyes as he replied, even though he was somewhat surprised by the idea that he actually liked the idea of the purple imprint Felicity's soft lips had certainly left behind. "Glad you're entertained. Have you got her?"

" _Won't have any images till she plants the trojan that'll give her program access, but she's coming through loud and clear on the comm. Long as she doesn't need us in the elevator she'll be fine._ "

That made him frown, "What's wrong with the elevator?"

" _Disrupts signals sometimes, I think,_ " he could almost hear Diggle shrug. " _Don't know for sure myself, but that always happens in movies._ "

"Then she shouldn't—"

" _Oliver, the server's on the twenty-fifth floor. I'm sure you can guess as well as I can what she'd say if you told her she had to climb twenty-five flights of stairs in those heels._ "

The vigilante bit his tongue at that, knowing Diggle had a point but not liking it one bit. But he could only watch, and listen, as Felicity flirted with the two men at the front desk—only one of whom seemed to be making any effort not to gape at her—and then keep watching as they waived her on by and she headed for the elevators.

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity's P.O.V_.

Felicity knew she wasn't imagining the eyes on her. The most intent, fixed look was coming from behind; but there were more than a few curious looks darted her way from around and inside the building, too. As planned; this outfit was meant to grab attention after all, though she hadn't consciously planned for the effect it'd had on half of her new team. If Oliver's interest was something her subconscious was going for here, it'd worked. Obviously Diggle was watching her go in, too, but his gaze didn't feel like a burn in that way that almost made her want to forget what she was doing here and turn back around.

Except she couldn't do that, because this wasn't about her, of them, and they were on a timeline. So she stretched her imitation of Erika's smirking-smile across her face and strode through the automatic door, though she did spare the gawking uniformed-kid (one of the caterer's) that'd stopped to hold said automatic door for her a glance. Just a glance; she didn't want him to actually follow her. But his interested stare staying on her as she walked in was only relevant in so far that it'd be one more thing to keep the two men shooting up from their lazy slouches behind the desk from giving her too much trouble even if they were so inclined.

The fact that she'd never seen the real Erika actually smile was why it was _her_ imitation. It didn't have to be perfect, and it was better if it wasn't all that close, because as soon as she walked back out those doors she'd prefer if it was completely obvious that the real Erika was never here today. The point of imitating her at all was really just to have a character in-mind. After all, it was easier to imitate the mortal she was pretending to be than come up with a completely different personality. She could do that, if needed, but why bother?

As an Immortal less than a few centuries short of her third millennia, Felicitas of Carthage had a long memory of remembered 'characters' she could imitate even if she didn't know how Erika Alderson might react to any particular situation. She knew how to mix it all up well-enough to not seem fake; mimicking the mortal just enough that a quick questioning of anyone over in I.T—since, for once, it wasn't her on Saturday afternoon—would confirm she was who she claimed to be even though she wasn't.

At the same time, keeping her mimicry imprecise enough to keep the recent Cal-Tech grad from getting into any trouble for this. Hopefully. If a Chinese mob hit was thwarted by the Vigilante here tonight, the S.C.P.D should be expected to follow up on every possible angle: _maybe_ including Erika's visit to M.G hours before whatever the evening exploded into. If they went past confirming the existence of work orders that'd been completed, and thereby found out that that the real Erika Alderson was never here, well, it'd be beyond remiss of them not to investigate further. And Felicity would prefer if that 'further' didn't include too much attention on Erika (or her co-workers).

Of course, even if it did, Felicity should be safe. She boarded a plane this afternoon—last week, really, but the airport videos and airline records hadn't been that hard to alter.

And Methos had already agreed—suspiciously reluctant, but obliged by the loyalty he only pretended couldn't dictate his actions—to assert they were on a hiking trip together out in Washington this weekend if anyone asked. It was something she'd hear more about, she knew, but the only other alibi she could think of meant involving Amanda, and Felicity was never entirely sure when the Immortal thief was letting law-enforcement know she was the one they couldn't catch or not...

Even if anyone from the S.C.P.D was dogged enough to chase down her brother in Washington State, they'd never make it through Methos. Honestly Detective Lance, from what she'd seen in 'the Vigilante' case file, just might be that dogged if he could get his lieutenant to okay more than a phone call. But the oldest man alive had an even longer history to pull from than she did when it came to what'd made him the man he was. Yes, he'd chosen to leave Death behind; back when he'd ended the Four Horsemen the first time, lost his singer, or helped the Horsemen come to a final end. Nonetheless, he still wasn't someone any mortal cop could intimidate into anything. If there was one thing Felicity could be sure of, it was that... she just wished she could be so sure that the older ancient would still apply his modern 'not liking fighting' outlook to mortal pests just as much as most Immortal headhunters.

That was all part of a rather extreme contingency though. The odds of anyone connecting Felicity to the fake Erika Alderson were next to none. Even Erika shouldn't think of Felicity Smoak if asked about anyone that could've been here today pretending to be her. They'd worked together only twice before Walter moved Felicity to a desk in the server room, and even when they'd both been stationed in the cubicle city of I.T, they'd only said 'hi' in passing a handful of times.

And any witness description the cops might gather about her today would lead to the woman that wasn't here, not to the co-worker she barely talked to. The S.C.P.D wouldn't have any actual images, after all. Her anti-Watcher device was working perfectly before Oliver picked her up, so not a single camera she was anywhere near today would have a clear image of her. Though she really did need to give the device a better name: anti-Watcher sounded better than anti-camera, since she'd really created it with the Watchers in mind, but still...

It was a careful balance. Felicity refused to lead the cops back to Oliver. If it came down to that; if the cops actually got to her, she'd probably start thinking about making herself move on. Not happily, but if it were necessary she'd jump off the top of Detective Lance's police precinct to make sure he knew she was, without a doubt (or Immortality) a dead end. Her body then disappearing from the morgue would undoubtedly bother him almost as much as it would Oliver and Diggle, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd had to die and then disappear to protect someone she cared about...

It shouldn't come to that. Anymore than it should trouble the moral I.T girl that Felicity didn't bear any ill will. Still, every step she could take might be the one that helped in the end.

So she specifically flattened her accent, speaking each word more precisely than she normally would in these days when grammar didn't really matter most places; because that precision would be memorable, and it wasn't at all how young Erika from California spoke. "Good afternoon, gentleman," she infused each word with deliberate warmth through a slight widening of her smile even as she kept her gaze lowered because blue eyes weren't well hidden by makeup.

"Good-Good afternoon, miss," the younger guard stuttered out, very visibly trying not to look her up and down as she focused her smile on him. Points for decency, at least, even if roaming eyes would mean they wouldn't be on her face, which was another reason she'd decided on the overdone outfit. "Are you lost?"

"No." Felicity kept her smile in place as she shook her head and unzipped her leather jacket with a shrug to make it fall open as she leaned forward, holding her forged I.D up for him, still smiling as both men's eyes didn't quite focus on the I.D as she propped herself up on the desk that she could only rest her elbows on because of her soaring heels. "I'm Erika, Mister..." she cocked her head to the side so she'd have to direct her eyes down to glance between their own nametags even though they probably wouldn't be making eye-contact with her anymore if she looked up. "Randall and Mister... Morris. _Queen Consolidated_ I.T sent me over for _Merlyn Global_ 's work orders."

"Work orders?" the slightly older guard didn't try to hide his confusion as she glanced at him, not reacting to his eye-line only just moving back up towards her face as she did so. "On the weekend?"

"Yes. Sorry," Felicity shrugged again, this time spreading her hands in a 'what can you do?' gesture, letting her precise diction slip a little because her outfit was obviously enough of a distraction after all. "I was supposed to be here yesterday, but we've been crazy busy this week. And I guess you need one of these fixed before Monday? 'Cause my boss wouldn't have cleared the overtime otherwise." She stood up and held her jacket open so they could watch as she unzipped an inner pocket. The chances of them thinking she was going for a gun were practically non-existent, but it gave them another angle at her cleavage that she could see both of them taking advantage of in her peripheral vision even as she pulled her prepped burner phone out of said pocket. "I have a copy of the work order here—"

"No, that's fine," Morris was shaking his head when she looked at him, his cheeks pink as he stared intently at her forehead; so obviously embarrassed at checking her out more than once. Again, inconvenient points—but at least he was even more likely not to remember too many exact facts. "We can send you up, but I don't think anyone's here in I.T today?"

"Nah, nothing's happening for them on the weekend," Randall reminded the other guard, shrugging uncertainly. "I mean their exec might be here for the party later, but... What about the other tech team? The hacking guys?"

"That's fine," Felicity tucked the phone back in her coat, still careful to keep the leather garment sitting just-so on her shoulders. "I've been here before."

"But don't you need, uh, passwords?" Randall wondered. "Or something?"

"No... I don't think so," Felicity broke her smugly aloof persona completely then, flashing her brightest smile to make both been blink as she let just a little of her Quickening leak out again. Because she was lying, of course, but she really didn't want them to 'helpfully' call anyone in. Especially anyone from the M.G cyber security team that should want to watch over her shoulder as she worked and might just take their job seriously enough to be watching the monitor instead of her cleavage. "Just access to the server on twenty-five to fix the problems."

"Oh, okay," Randall looked at the older guards, "That's okay, right?"

Morris hesitated only a moment, still studying her forehead very intently, then he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah that should be fine." He turned to point towards the elevator bank, straight through the crowd of caterers in their state of controlled chaos preparing for the gala. "Elevator's over there."

Felicity didn't let herself cock her head to the side, even though that wasn't quite what she'd expected and partially a problem all rolled into one. "Okay, thanks."

The elevators would only take her to the twenty-forth floor without authorization from higher up than the front desk, but her feet would forgive one flight of stairs. And getting by the front desk without them scanning her fake I.D or even looking at it closely was much more than she'd dared to hope for.

So she strode away from the front desk, weaving in and out through the caterers without making eye-contact with any of them.

"Miss?" the younger guard's voice stopped her from hitting the up arrow when she reached her destination. "Miss?"

Felicity spun on her heel and smiled up at him again. "Yes, Mister Randall?"

"Sorry; just remembered you'll need a security card to get to twenty-five," he smiled at her as he indicated the card on his belt. "I'll ride up with you."

"Oh," Felicity blinked at him, then nodded as he called the elevator. "Thank you." She watched the elevator numbers countdown as the little room came down the shaft on command, then offered a polite nod when the guard held the doors as he indicated she should go first.

When the young man swore almost too softly for her to hear over all the chatter and general hubbub in the lobby, she glanced at him, and followed his gaze from to the panel of floor-buttons displayed the obvious problem.

"It only goes to twenty-four?" Felicity let her tone be all innocent curiosity.

"Looks like, yeah," the guard admitted with a grimace. "Sorry, the executive elevators must be the only ones that go over twenty four; my key-card doesn't give me access to those. During the week we'd call up, but nobody's up there now."

A low-ranking security guard, then. Probably someone who wasn't actually supposed to leave the front desk. Maybe because he was really new, maybe because he'd proven himself to just be that incompetent. But it didn't matter to her either way.

"What about the stairs?" she kept her innocent curiosity in place as she considered it, reluctantly letting a little bit of her Quickening leak into her voice again when she saw him hesitate. "We could ride the floor to twenty-four, right?"

"Ye-Yeah?" the young man blinked at her, going from irritated uncertainty through bewildered to hopeful so fast that she wondered if she might've overdone it a little. "Yeah! Yeah, we can. I think?"

Felicity had never really liked using her Quickening this way. Not just because the witch that'd haunted her mentor for millennia had made a name for herself through it, but because it didn't really feel right to take away someone's free will. Felicity knew that Cassandra had been a slave, and not just to Methos when he was Death, so she didn't understand how she could use her 'Voice' so freely. But it was an ability that was too valuable to fully discard, so Felicity—who'd preferred to call it 'The Force' ever since the first Star Wars movie debuted—tried to use it only sparingly. Which was why she deliberately pulled as much of her Quickening back in as she could before she looked at the guard again. "So are you here for the party, too, Mister Randall?"

"Uh-no, some of the guys that've been around a bit longer are coming in before it starts," the young man looked away uncomfortably, like his youth and the fact that he hadn't worked at the big company for years and years was something to be ashamed of.

"Well, at least you can have fun on Saturday night then," she pointed out cheerfully, not letting herself wince when that had him looking a little too hopeful right away.

"Yeah. Yeah there's a new club I've been meaning to try, place called _Poison_ , it's—"

"A few blocks from here," Felicity cut in smoothly, looking up at the climbing numbers. "Yeah, never been there myself. My boyfriend doesn't like the owner."

She didn't even need to be looking at him; she felt that hope deflate in the face of the: ' _of course she has a boyfriend_ ' realization.

Though she was personally too pleased to be dropping the title she'd threatened Oliver with to feel too bad for the kid that'd probably never see her again. Granted, it would've been better to drop it before; odds were her comm's transmission was bouncing around the elevator shaft rather than finding its way to the two men waiting outside.

All that amused satisfaction fled, however, only a second later; Felicity barely stopped herself from groaning as the warning of another Immortal's presence buzzed through her temples yet again this afternoon. She allowed the instinctive glance towards the doors—to the elevators across the hallway from the elevators she'd been sent to—because that tell-tale giveaway of meeting the other Immortal's gaze wasn't possible while she was in the elevator... and he (or, maybe, she) was in another elevator, headed down towards the second floor.

Because that was where the executive elevator started, since all the upper-level employees who worked on level twenty-five and up didn't even start on the same floor as the other elevators since their garage entrance was on the second floor. The C.E.O's elevator, of course, at the very center of the building, undoubtedly stopped on any floor he wanted, but only a few people other than Malcolm Merlyn could ride up that particular pulley system.

"The guy on the bike, right?"

"Hmm?" Felicity blinked at him, her brain taking a second to catch up—needing to call back the almost inconsequential conversation it'd momentarily all but dismissed in response to a real risk being realized.

"Your boyfriend?" Randall asked uncertainly, clearly wondering if he could hope she'd admit otherwise, that she'd broken up recently or something, but doubting it considering said 'guy on the bike' had only just dropped her off and was still waiting outside.

"Oh, yes," Felicity nodded again, letting herself smile a little. "He's waiting for me. Probably not patiently, but I wasn't sure how long these orders would take, and his cell phone committed suicide last night." She rolled her shoulders in a shrug, "Put it in the wrong pocket; it escaped when we took a turn a little fast, and hitting the pavement at any speed isn't something a mobile's made to survive."

The guard laughed uncomfortably, still clearly caught on the fact that he was attracted to this flirtatious woman who was already in a committed relationship and therefore not really interested. Not to mention they were both, purportedly, working. Fortunately, his embarrassment should distract him from Felicity's preoccupation, because _unfortunately_ , this Quickening wasn't the familiar one she'd deliberately hidden from only a short while before.

Granted, it would've been very odd for him to follow her here. Not to mention nearly impossible, seeing as he'd have had no reason to know she was the woman on the motorcycle and he hadn't turned his car around to try and follow them either way. Her new neighbor was too young to read anything into the Buzz, even the raw power-level, suppressed or not, let alone the distance and direction it was coming from.

Still, it would've been less daunting than this foreign Quickening, because it was an unknown variable—not necessarily a foe but not a friend either—in this unique situation. And that made keeping her mind on her mortal minder of the moment even harder as long as that buzz shadowed the edges of her thoughts.

Felicity _couldn't_ interact with another Immortal here: be it a mere greeting, a challenge, or an outright duel. The last might actually deter the Triad, since it'd definitely have Merlyn Global crawling with cops before the party, thereby possibly preventing it all together. But with Oliver and Diggle in her ear none of those were possibilities she could allow even if she wanted to. Which she _didn't_.

Really, before Oliver Queen had meandered into her life, Felicity had sometimes gone decades without meeting other Immortals that weren't already friends she knew were coming. Since she'd helped save the handsome vigilante's life she'd encountered two—in less than twenty-four hours! All while working on only her second 'case' for him, though only this second meeting might relate to said case. _Not_ something she'd admit to Methos anytime soon.

Not that the older ancient would have any way of knowing just yet. She hadn't checked on Fournier by name yet, but the RAT she'd embedded in the Watchers' database hadn't alerted her to his arrival. Anymore than it'd triggered a warning about whoever the hell that was on their way down. So both were Immortals the Watchers didn't know about; or had at least lost track of at some point. Not as thin a field as the Watchers themselves would like to think, but nonetheless significant. And strangely as helpful as it was unhelpful, here and now.

For the moment, at least, it meant that she'd been taken unaware—annoying. But it also meant her often over-protective mentor wouldn't know about it just yet either. Still, it wouldn't be long before he asked, and not long after that he'd come looking. Not out of paranoia, though, their long histories showed them that his worries would be justified, because some variation of this scenario had played out many times before.

This city wasn't a relatively meaningless name on a map anymore. Starling was rendered newsworthy by the fascinating presence of its vigilante-hero—it depended on who was reporting, really, more than what'd actually happened, which title was bandied about referring to him. But as long as he was in local news, that news would receive at last some national news, and occasionally international, too.

No, not just occasionally; not anymore. The internet had changed that. They'd be trending online. All of the names the S.C.P.D and the media had come up with for Oliver's alter-ego had their own hashtags already, and every one of them had been Googled many times over. Something people wanted to know.

Making Starling City a place to be.

And Felicity had learned a long time ago that Immortals were drawn to 'the places to be.' Eternity was a very long time to spend without seeking out any new experiences, and the best way to find an experience worth having was what everyone else talked about. That idea had led her through many more cities than just Rome.

The modern era's ease of communication and travel was only surprising her by just how much it seemed to be speeding everything up. Everything just kept getting faster and faster, and sometimes that managed to include Immortals. All roads definitely didn't lead to Rome anymore, and the computer age only made tracking Immortal travel easier in some ways. Though it wasn't without its own failings; as the last twenty four hours so aptly demonstrated.

"Miss?" the guard's worried voice forced her out of her thoughts.

Felicity immediately turned a bright smile on him, both as a reward for still not giving her any trouble and to keep him from asking any inconvenient questions—despite feeling a little bad for the trouble he and his partner might be in later for that. "Sorry, lost in thought," she followed him out of the elevator then, glancing in the direction she knew the stairs were located in thanks to the blueprints. "The stairs are..."

"Over here, Miss," the boy pointed but waited for her to go first, having obviously decided to revert back to the bashful manners after she'd dropped the boyfriend card. His smile dropped as he looked at her high heels when she started to walk that way. "Sorry, can—"

"I wouldn't wear high heels if I wasn't capable of walking in them, Mister Randall," Felicity reassured him easily, using her bright smile again as she turned towards the staircase with an exaggerated sway of her hips. "But I do appreciate only having to climb the one flight."

That got an only half-choked chuckle from him in response, and then he was hurrying around her towards the stairs to get the door, which opened from this side automatically like it would on every floor—fire regulations and all—but wouldn't let anyone in on the next level up without his card. Or, you know, hacking; but legitimate access worked.

"Thank you," Felicity nodded as she walked past him, again intentionally climbing the steps ahead of him, not at all minding exactly where it'd put the poor young man's eyes. It wasn't like he could do anything while at work, other than maybe work up the nerve to actually flirt a little—though the bashful blush she'd seen a few times, and the fact that he'd seen Oliver out on his bike, didn't make that seem likely. Still, it was working well to distract him from questions she had no desire to answer.

The returning sensation of the Buzz wasn't a welcome one at all. This time it was coming up just as quickly as it'd previously descended—in the elevator again then. But she didn't let herself react to it.

Despite it stopping nearby. Very nearby, in fact: on their destination floor. Twenty-five.

 _Damn it!_

Still, Felicity didn't let herself swear aloud as she watched Randall fumble with his keycard at the door marked '25,' but she had to physically bite her tongue to be safe.

All the while thinking instead of acting as Randall tried his security card and the door failed to unlock. If there wasn't another Immortal walking towards them she could've distracted him enough to wirelessly hack and unlock the surprisingly simple system, like she'd planned on doing without an audience there. Instead she stayed silent, shifting back towards the stairs to the next floor because she'd prefer higher ground if it came to swords drawn anyway. Especially since all she had on her right now was a few throwing knives and poison darts. Not exactly comforting with the Buzz of an unknown Immortal announcing approach and arrival on the other side of the door before he opened it, but she could only take the hand that the Fates had dealt.

Felicity didn't avoid eye-contact now, there was no point and the Buzz was only an unnecessary annoyance here. She didn't recognize him on sight. Not at all surprising, since she didn't know his Quickening, but he wasn't someone she'd seen in Watcher photos either.

His dark brown hair was longer than was currently fashionable for men, but still cut close up by his head; not a shoulder-length ponytail like the younger Highlander preferred, apparently unable to let it go like his teacher and kinsman. His skin was darkly tanned; not the natural olive-shade of the Mediterranean but proof that he'd spent enough time in the sun for his Quickening to just say: fine, tan then. There was a thin scar running through his right eyebrow, maybe from a knife but definitely from something that'd occurred before his First Death. Even in a young Immortal a wound so small shouldn't scar, not so close to the head, the epicenter of every Immortal's Quickening. He was taller than her (most men were), but not as tall as Oliver. His frame wasn't as visibly fit as the vigilante's either, but he was in shape. So she was a little reassured by the fact that he wasn't wearing a blazer over his dress shirt that might conceal a sword.

More reassuring, though, was the fact that the mortal guard visibly recognized him. The boy relaxed from his nervous stutters almost as soon as he'd realized he knew who'd opened the door; clearly relieved that someone who could actually open the door had done so. "Mister Starek, thanks. This is—"

"Morris already told me, Randall," the Immortal cut him off with an easy grin. "Next time someone need's server access though, you really should call someone from my department if no one's in I.T. Your cards won't let you in there either."

Felicity had known that, of course. It was why the U.S.B that'd plant her RAT was only one of several devices she had on her. But the poor security guard obviously didn't, as expected. "Sorry," she smiled at the young man as she lied to him. "I didn't realize." After an easy shrug, she added, "Didn't think my boss would send me over here on the weekend if it'd be a problem."

"It's not," 'Mister Starek' immediately interjected, pausing till she finally met his gaze again, "I'll be happy to show you in, Miss..."

"Erika," Felicity accepted his handshake as the wrong name fell from her lips with the ease of long-practice. After all, Methos didn't like even when there were similarities between the names she chose, he'd never let her stick to the same one like the Highlanders could only do because the Watchers kept covering their paper trails. "My name's Erika."

"Charmed, Miss Erika, I'm Paul Starek," Starek returned, the light way he was shaking her hand—the grip just a little bit off.

Telling her he was born in Europe sometime after poets and the bored nobility made chivalry and 'courtly love' a thing. He was fighting the impulse to kiss her hand in this situation because it'd be weird despite his upbringing. And wrong, as she'd offered her hand for a handshake, not a kiss of any kind.

"Good afternoon, Mister Starek," Felicity returned with a polite nod, before pulling her hand away from his gentle grip.

That grip and the sincere curiosity in his eyes went a long way towards reassuring her. This wasn't a headhunter, at least, even if his being here (and a member of Merlyn Global's cyber security no less!) was horribly inconvenient. The interest and lack of any hostility could be helpful though. And she could hope that he didn't consider his job duel-worthy after he realized why she'd really been here.

Starek stepped back a moment after letting her hand go, holding the important door to the twenty-fifth floor open and indicating they could enter without a sound.

"Um, I'll—"

"You can take the elevator down, Mister Randall," the other Immortal deftly reassured the flustered youth.

And again, Felicity could picture this man growing up in one of the old European courts, dreaming of one day becoming a knight and thus holding onto that lifestyle as much as he could when his first death didn't hold. If she had a higher opinion of the origins of chivalry and some of the ideologies it was tied up in, she might be willing to trust him on it. But there were more than a few reasons most Immortal women didn't make it through their first few centuries, and the chivalric code was as much a hindrance as a help in that regard. It may be considered a historical interpretation of social virtues and morality in modern times, but it was about war ethics long before courtly manners made maidens fair. Was this man a knight who'd ridden in the Crusades—any, many, or all of them?—when commanded by Liege Lord, Faith, or both? Or was he a courtier important enough to merely listen to terrible tales told prettily?

It all depended on when and where he was born, or found since all of them were. And she couldn't read it in his Quickening, his face, form or actions so far.

"Th-Thank you, sir," the mortal guard's mumble filled the otherwise silent floor as the door clicked close behind and they walked down the hallway.

The elevators were only a few paces from the secure staircase, again probably in deference to fire regulations. That was thankfully long enough for Felicity to at least try and map out her response to this latest wrinkle in their infiltration plans, despite her unease and not knowing exactly how to handle another unexpected Immortal.

"So you're M.G's head white-hat?" she asked blandly after they'd left the guard in the lobby-bound elevator. Non-specific enough to beg a response anyway, and hopefully far enough away from their shared fantastical similarity to keep any of his questions away from anything related to Immortality. Not that she really wanted him too focused on his job now, either, but in the scheme of things it was the safest topic all things considered.

"Not head, no," the man gave her a grin that again hinted much more at a history of courtly love affairs than any great interest in the technology that defined his modern-day job of choice. "Too many meetings for me. And I'd much rather spend my time alternating hats anyway. You?"

Felicity affected a shrug as she watched him key-in the entry code to the server door. "I dabble, mostly. Doesn't everybody?"

"Amazingly enough, no," Starek shook his head as he held the door open for her; more like a courtier than a knight, but he would've lived through it becoming the gentlemanly thing to do either way. "But then, mere mortals don't have as many reasons to dabble as we do."

Felicity's laugh was as deliberate as her previous shrug, even though seriously saying the word 'mere' before 'mortals' had been something that always made her stomach twist. "Tech work will definitely be more in demand the more people dabble," she went on before he could asked what he was actually curious about since it probably had nothing to do with either of their current jobs. Fact or fictional. "But that's why M.G put your team together—what was is, two years ago?"

"Not quite. It'll be two years in May, I think." He paused, watching her setup, but making no effort to actually watch what codes she was typing via the monitor she was trying to block or the keyboard she'd claimed. "So how long have you been in Starling, Erika?"

Well, that was a safe enough answer, especially since she was sticking to the answer the real Erika would give. Hopefully it'd stay that simple... and he didn't happen to have a sword hidden somewhere in the server room. Two of the thirteen she'd hidden around Q.C were stored in the server room, since her desk was there, but there were plenty of other places a creative Immortal could hide one if they wanted to. At least this wasn't his main workspace, and considering his job he should be more reluctant to destroy the hardware in here even if he realized what she was up to and got to a sword before she could run out of the room.

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V_.

John waited a whole ten minutes before he finally said something. "She's fine." Both words were a mild chastisement that faded only a little as he added, "She's doing great."

" _She is,_ " the vigilante had to admit. " _But she's still in the server room._ "

"She got by security," John pointed out unnecessarily. "Even the computer specialist isn't giving her any trouble."

Which was a relief. The curveball of one of _Merlyn Global's_ precious few computer security specialists actually being there when the company was officially closed—even more so than they would be on an ordinary Saturday to allot for the party preparations—had made John tense, too. For a good minute he'd been waiting for their I.T girl to turn back around and run back to Oliver's bike as quickly as those high heeled boots would let her.

But Felicity hadn't aborted the mission. Or even panicked at all. Instead, she'd handled the unwelcome surprise with impressive aplomb. More coolness than she'd shown either security guard, but that was understandable; it wasn't unusual for women to want to keep work completely professional. That'd made getting Lyla to agree to their first date the work of months...

" _That's because he's too busy flirting,_ " Oliver's reply was dry and dark. And a shade of green that had nothing to do with his vigilante costume.

John smirked slightly as he looked over at the billionaire, who'd been turned towards the building since their girl had walked in, as though staring at the doors would make that happen any sooner than watching water on the stove made it boil faster. He obviously couldn't see his employer's famous face right now; it was hidden via his full-face shielded helmet, which didn't look too odd only because of the motorcycle he was waiting by. But he didn't need to see the frown that was accompanying his grumbling to know it was there. Still, while Oliver would undoubtedly prefer if Felicity's solution to every non-tech question wasn't flirting, even he couldn't deny it was working.

Their girl was being escorted to the server room by one of the very people meant to protect it. Just like the Greeks' great wooden horse was pulled into Troy by the ancient city's own soldiers. And the mostly easy, at times downright cheerful way she was handling the cyber security specialist that wanted to meet her for a drink later made John Diggle pretty sure she wouldn't have any trouble planting her trojan while Starek was watching her smile.

Granted, if this went on too much longer Digg might have to remind Oliver that they were worried about the Triad trying to assassinate Tommy's father, and that the Hood therefore wouldn't have time to visit Paul Starek anytime tonight. And that the M.G employee probably wasn't on the List so he had no _real_ reason to point an arrow anywhere near him anyway.

" _So how long have you been in Starling?_ " they heard the man keep fishing, the faint sounds in the background reminiscent of the little room she worked in at Q.C because they should be.

" _A couple months,_ " she lied, sounding distracted. " _You?_ "

" _Just started here,_ " Starek admitted, the pride in his voice not at all lessened by her polite disinterest. " _Started on the East Coast a few years back. Got promoted to the home office just after the new year when the stuff with Q.C Applied Sciences really got going. I'm still looking for an apartment, actually._ "

Diggle didn't let himself laugh when Oliver actually growled.

" _Any recommendations?_ "

" _There's a lot of nice places downtown, right near here, if you want a short commute and you can afford it,_ " Felicity's response was honest this time, but still cooler than it'd been with the easily embarrassed grunt from the lobby. " _Where can I plug in?_ "

Digg did laugh when Oliver groaned at that.

" _Right over here,_ " the M.G tech answered the technical question without seeming to notice the innuendo.

Then again Felicity wasn't babbling apologies either.

" _What about The Glades?_ " Starek kept going. " _Everyone says that's the place to avoid, but isn't your boss opening a night club there?_ "

" _I'd heard Mister Queen was, but I don't think his mom's got anything to do with it,_ " Felicity really couldn't sound anymore uninterested if she really tried. " _I think she wanted him to take over Applied Sciences a few months ago. That was the rumor anyway, till he turned it down._ "

" _Yeah, I saw that online. He's more qualified to head a night club anyway: he obviously parties enough._ "

Oliver's grumbles were too low for his earwig to pickup, but it didn't take much thought to imagine what he was muttering.

" _To each their own,_ " Felicity's shrug was audible. " _But I don't know. The Glades have never seemed that bad to me. I mean, you shouldn't wander around at night there, but there's more than a few places like that._ "

" _Every city has them,_ " the new arrival agreed.

" _ **Everywhere**_ _does,_ " Felicity emphasized.

" _True,_ " Starek accepted, then fished again, " _So where do you wander at night?_ "

" _Really?_ " Oliver bit the word out.

Digg couldn't help but agree. It wasn't any wonder that Felicity had seemed to cool off the flirting for this guy; he obviously didn't need any encouragement at all. Not that that meant the Hood should pay him a visit later, but it did make him hope Felicity didn't actually need the whole hour she'd said might be needed for this job. He wasn't sure how long listening to Oliver here could be funny when he was also listening to the conversation Felicity was stuck in. Not when only a few weeks of really working with the girl—with a few traumatic experiences thrown in—had shifted her from 'co-worker' to his 'little-sister-like-friend' far more quickly than he ever would've imagined possible.

" _Mostly my computer,_ " Felicity answered evenly, probably feigning the distracted tone while she ignored her 'host' in favor of her 'work.' " _Plenty to do on the worldwide web._ "

" _Well, yeah, but you're handling computer problems all day,_ " the man paused, then asked, " _Why don't you just fake higher credentials?_ "

That pause was even more noticeable, though Oliver filled it with some swearing that was only just soft enough not to escape his helmet. Digg found himself tensing again as he waited for how their girl would handle this, even while the matter-of-fact, non-judgmental way Starek asked puzzled him.

" _Excuse me?_ " Felicity replied, her voice completely cold, and probably after a pretty cold look in those silent seconds.

Making John Diggle realize he didn't think he'd ever heard her angry before. Given her propensity to babbling, he was kind of surprised to realize she apparently went cold instead of hot. Then again, maybe it depended upon the situation. Her reaction to Oliver not really trying to intimidate her a few weeks back had been more hot than cold... then again; different situation. But it could very well be just Oliver and Felicity.

His attention was brought back to the comm when the tech cleared his throat, clearly having realized he'd offended her, but surprisingly he didn't sound all that mollifying.

" _You're obviously good enough with computers to cover this work order—both of them—alone._ " Starek commented, the statement almost a compliment. " _You telling me you couldn't hack the records for any number of tech schools?_ "

Felicity was quite another moment, then observed, " _That's an odd thing for a cyber security specialist to encourage._ "

" _Not for_ —"

" _And I prefer to stay on the right side of the law, thank you._ " Some of that cool edge was back as she finished, even over the sounds of her still working away in the background.

John found himself grinning again as the M.G employee finally realized he'd made a mistake in his choice of dialogue and started apologizing. Because their girl might still be inside, but he felt a lot better about this than he had driving in. Clearly their girl could handle herself. Much as he didn't like agreeing to her going into the field in any capacity after the Dodger incident, it'd made sense; so it was good to have at least a more reasons not to worry.

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

Oliver made himself relax as much as he could while the M.G tech fumbled through an apology. He could make his shoulders roll and his jaw unclench, but his fists weren't going to be uncurling anytime soon.

The _Merlyn Global_ cyber security specialist was an odd mixture of creepy curiosity and flirty professionalism. The vigilante would much prefer if the geek stopped trying to flirt and fish, but considering what Felicity was wearing, and the fact that she seemed surprisingly comfortable using her sexuality as a distraction, it was probably too much to hope for.

At least Felicity didn't seem interested herself... Not that she _could_ be when she wasn't there as herself; but there'd been a definite coolness to her tone a few times now, too.

He knew she was using the geek's interest in her to distract him from paying attention to what she was actually doing while she completed the 'simple' jobs that _Merlyn Global_ 's own I.T department couldn't handle themselves for some reason. Just like she'd distracted the guards. Only the tech guy—who specialized in cyber security and was responsible for the very server Felicity was there to compromise—was much more of a threat to her 'mission' than a security guard that didn't even know how to scan his own I.D card from the sounds of it, or at least had no idea what it gave him access to.

Still, each time the jackass flirted with her, Oliver had to remind himself he couldn't just charge in. It didn't even help that Felicity kept deflecting him, a lot more than she had the two guards in the lobby. No, the fact that the other man was making her that uncomfortable only made the simmering emotion in Oliver's chest heat that much closer to boiling.

" _She's fine,_ " Digg repeated for what could very well be the hundredth time since she went into the building. The ex-soldier must be getting tired of saying it, but his tone never wavered from that even calmness that made Oliver's clenched jaw and tight fists feel a little unreasonable.

Especially since he could hear the way the bodyguard was all but finishing each reminder with Oliver's name without saying it. Because they shouldn't use names over the potentially unsecure line, but it was there in its absence.

The only thing that really helped was the passing time—she had to be done soon, right?—was the fact that 'Erika' had mostly cooled down the flirting away from the front desk. Oh, she was probably still angling cleavage and swaying hips as distractions, but Starek was being treated to a lot more cool politeness than charming smiles, so it made listening a little easier.

Even though it also made Oliver wonder.

Why had she switched from charming vixen to competent working girl so completely? So abruptly? Even the guard they'd left at the elevator must've noticed it.

Sure, Starek was too interested in her, but by _not_ distracting him his questions kept getting more and more probing... And, come to think of it, creepy. The 'mere mortals' comment was just weird. But fishing for where she lived? Where she 'wandered'?

Well, at the very least it just justified Oliver's desire to scan The List for Paul Starek, supposedly newly arrived in Starling or not.

" _All set,_ " Felicity finally said.

Oliver knew it hadn't been anywhere close to the 'maybe an hour?' his tech girl had estimated earlier. But it was both a relief and not really a surprise, too.

" _What?_ " Starek couldn't cover his disappointment. " _Already? But_ —"

" _Yup,_ " Felicity confirmed, popping the 'p' on the end of her confirmation, making her smug grin all to audible. " _Q.C wouldn't have sent me alone if they didn't know I could handle it, Mister Starek._ "

" _Oh, undoubtedly,_ " the still surprised man managed a hurried agreement, before trying, " _Well, with all our work done, perhaps we_ —"

" _Sorry,_ " Felicity cut him off, and Oliver couldn't be more relieved to hear her say: " _My boyfriend's waiting outside. I've gotta go. Thank you for your help, Mister Starek. Have a nice weekend._ "

He heard the faint sound of the door opening again, but it didn't click closed near enough to Felicity for him to hear it.

" _Wait!_ " Starek's call, however, came through loud and clear as he followed her out of the room full of computers. " _You don't have to run away_ —"

" _I am not running, Mister Starek._ "

For the first time Felicity's voice went completely cold. Before, when he'd offended her he'd thought that was her version of cold composure, but this didn't even sound like her. Well, it did, but her voice sounded a _lot_ colder than Oliver would've ever thought her sunny, smiling personality could manage; it practically gave his ear frostbite through the comm.

" _I'm just not interested. Excuse me._ "

The staticy-fritz of the signal not going through after she'd stepped into the elevator was even harder than it'd been before. When she'd taken the ride up with the eager-to-please guard Oliver hadn't really been to worried; after all, she'd had him eating out of the palm of her hand.

Starek, however, would bother him even if his job wasn't to prevent exactly what Felicity had infiltrated the building to do. The man just didn't make _sense_. Sure, Felicity was beyond hot and not at all trying to hide it in her current get-up, but half of the tech's pickup lines sounded like something those 'stranger danger' presentations in elementary school way back when had warned about.

So it was a real relief to watch her walking back out the double doors barely more than a minute later.

"You okay?" Oliver asked her as he handed her helmet back to her, watching her face closely even as she hid it away after twisting her hair and her head up into the helmet again.

"I'm fine," Felicity answered flatly, no tears or fear or anger ringing through the words. But the slender arms she wrapped around him as she climbed back on the bike once he'd started it clung a lot tighter than they had on the way here.

" _Better get going,_ " Digg's voice was quiet, as deliberately calm as it'd been every time he'd reminded his employer that there was no reason to go charging into Malcolm Merlyn's headquarters. " _Looks like he's found a second wind._ "

Oliver knew his scowl was hidden by the helmet that hid his face when he looked back towards M.G's entrance to see the man he'd noticed earlier.

The same one who'd turned around after talking to the lone security guard still at the desk after the younger one had chased after Felicity. Who was watching them, her, now with a look the vigilante was very unhappy to realize he couldn't read.

What was he missing? Because there _had_ to be some piece he wasn't seeing here... how else would some creepy computer guy be harder to read than someone in the Russian mob or any one of the men he'd managed to read well enough to give them a second chance they'd take to avoid an arrow when he got to their place on his father's List?

" _We've gotta go,_ " Digg spoke up again when he'd glared too long.

Oliver still really wanted to deck the guy, despite his being at least smart enough to have stopped just outside of the skyscrapers' doors. But he'd stopped at that part that made the motion-sensors think he might be coming back in; so they kept opening and closing and both of the security guards were watching, probably more than a few of the caterers, too.

Felicity's grip around him was still tight as she waited for him to cut into the Saturday afternoon downtown traffic and take her home; still tighter than he would've expected after listening to her flirt and deflect and smack down... she had her face was turned away from the building, turned towards the traffic as she leaned against his back rather than away like she had when they'd left her house.

Her job here was done. Now it was his job to get her away safely. Not beat up the guy that'd upset her.

Oliver clenched his jaw, but revved the engine and cut away at the next opening the traffic allowed, weaving in and out, just within the limits of the law on autopilot as he filed Paul Starek's name and face away for after the mess between the Merlyn's and the Triad was handled.

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V_.

Felicity winced when the wig caught on her real hair—more precisely, the pins holding the midnight mane in place—yet again. "Ow..." she let the pained sound slip even as she craned her neck; futilely trying to see the back of her head even though she knew it wasn't possible with one mirror. And that it wouldn't help in this case anyway. Yes, all the problematic pins that'd done their job perfectly today and were continuing to do so now were right in that area at the very back that one's reflection might as well not possess outside of a house of mirrors. But the wig also hid the already repeatedly tugged area she was trying to work her fingers through anyway.

The concept of 'beauty is pain' and vice versa was ages old. Unfortunately that might never completely change. At least corsets were far from the mainstream now. Sword-fighting with your breath restricted to start with was as bad an idea as it sounded, but the fashions of high society had made it unavoidable at far too many uncomfortable points in time. Now it was mostly just shoes that could be risky, and a pair of pretty heels was much easier to remove than those thinning torture devices ever were.

A frustrated tug on an especially difficult pin drew a yelp from her throat this time, then she was distracted by a knock on the washroom door. Well, doorframe, since she hadn't actually closed said door.

And now Oliver was standing there, his reflection watching her with that handsome-even-while-worried frown again.

"Yes?" Felicity asked, while continuing to try and tug that one pest of a pin free.

"Here," Oliver walked towards her, his hands reaching for her head as she blinked at him. "Let me help."

It didn't surprise her that his hands were gentle in her hair. As capable of creating great destruction as any warriors, those big, callused palms and strong fingers were still dexterous and careful—plus much more patient than her—as they threaded through her real hair, gradually freeing it from its confinement under the wig.

Felicity bit her lip just deep enough to be called biting, to keep a moan from escaping when those wonderful fingers found that erogenous spot that could make her purr like a kitten. So, of course, his hands stopped there, one petting soothing circles _right there_ while the other worked at removing a pin that was probably the same one that'd made her yelp. She let her eyes drop shut even as she pursed her lips a bit tighter and tried not to lean into his touch.

It really had been too long.

Her current dry spell wasn't nearly as long as many of her Immortal friends all seemed to think. And nowhere near as long as she thought Methos sometimes wanted to _keep_ thinking—even back when he was giving her away at weddings. Not physically anyway. Women's rights and social biases had really improved in the last few mortal generations, at least in most places, so sex outside of marriage was no longer a risky venture anywhere she'd choose to live. But a few one-night-stands, summer flings and the like didn't compare to a meaningful relationship. Not for her anyway. And she hadn't let herself try one of those since José's horrific betrayal.

At least, that was the only explanation she could think of for why her mouth kept running away from her around Oliver Queen. Well, that and the fact that he seemed to be shirtless almost all the time around her. And even when he was wearing clothes...

Felicity pressed her lips just a bit tighter together at the thoughts; and the really much too nice feeling of the archer's hands in her hair.

It wasn't that she didn't babble around anyone else. She did.

It was a habit she tried to control in some lifetimes and not in others. In ages past, knowing when to hold your tongue and when to speak could be the difference between life and death, and even now it was a very valuable awareness to possess.

At the same time... there was just so much she _couldn't_ ever say, that trying to hold back the little irrelevant tangents her mind sent to her tongue seemed silly. In fact, she felt just a little more honest every time she babbled about something that didn't have to be said even though it was in her head. Despite Methos' approving observation that the trait lent her a credence of honesty that made most not think they needed to look further than the babbles that sometimes made her blush.

Blushing babbles that just 'happened' to increase in frequency whenever the most fascinating man she'd met in a very, very long time was nearby.

The brush of the basement's cool air atop her head brought her out of her heated thoughts as the wig was finally removed, but Oliver didn't stop threading his hands through her real strands. So she stayed still, telling herself that it was to let him work out the last few pins and elastics that'd been holding her hair in place via the hairnet that the wig was so securely attached to her head through only moments, or maybe minutes, ago.

Oliver very diligently worked away, for how long she couldn't say, till her blonde hair was freely falling to her shoulders. Then he very thoroughly checked to make sure he hadn't missed a single pin.

Felicity was just proud of herself for only tilting into his touch a few times and not moaning or purring at all.

"All set," Oliver's voice was warm and deep by her ear even as he tucked some strands behind it, his fingers stopping at the arrow-earring there along the way.

Big fingertips traced along the pierced shell of her ear, examining the first piece of jewelry she'd made in centuries, and Felicity had to practically swallow her tongue to strangle the sound that tried to escape.

"Where did you get this?" the archer asked, and his voice sounded just as deep as his Arrow growl, which only she and Diggle would recognize minus the voice-synthesizer, of course. Though there was no threat in the heated tone. Just curiosity... and maybe a smile?

Felicity swallowed before softly admitting, "I made it."

His fingers slid back along the shaft to test the blunted arrowhead just like he had earlier today. This time, though, he paused and she knew why even before he said, "The arrow that went missing last week?"

She let herself smile slightly, "I wondered if you noticed."

When exactly he made all of his arrows she didn't know; probably during one of the days he didn't have to work thanks to being a multi-billionaire. Which kind of made her want to sneak over to the basement during the day just to watch, well able to imagine the archer vigilantly perfecting each arrow.

It'd also made her a little bit hesitant to steal one, but she deliberately didn't take it from his quiver or any of the gear he always had ready-to-go on his suit. (And how ridiculous was it that he could always have his outfit all set, fully weaponized, but he couldn't be bothered to find a better mask than shadows and paint?)

Still, it didn't surprise her that he'd noticed one missing from the little armory that should probably be better concealed under the soon-to-open night club. Given the effort he must put into making each one, it'd probably be harder _not_ to count them.

It wasn't exactly the arrow she'd stolen, of course. On the real scale, one of those arrows would take her ear off rather than decorate it. But the details had seemed too important to not have a real one right in front of her when she crafted it in miniature.

"Sorry," Felicity added as an afterthought when he didn't say anything, his strong fingers still playing around her ear and the miniature arrow shot through it.

"No, don't be," his deep voice was a warm breeze along her arrowed ear and she couldn't help but shiver as he reminded her, "I told you: I like it."

Another pleasant shutter slipped down Felicity's backbone, but before she could muster a response—demure or decidedly not—Diggle's call came from outside the washroom.

"Felicity, your computer beeped?" the note of distracted confusion in his voice turned the notification into a question and told her that he was looking at whichever screen of code had opened and couldn't comprehend anything from the computer prompts.

It was probably the carefully coded link to the just as cautious remote access trojan she'd left burrowing into _Merlyn Global_ 's network earlier today. The very important RAT that this afternoon had been about.

It also had Oliver pulling away, though his hand slipped slowly from her ear rather than jerking back, but it still made her sigh as she watched the sinfully attractive man's reflection start to withdraw. He surprised her again though, because the hand he'd been kept threading through her hair as he examined her earring didn't withdraw too; instead he skimmed down her neck and came to rest on her shoulder. Surprising, then confusing her, because his gentle, shifting grip wasn't really sensual... it was more... testing? Not like the fingers around her ear and earring, though, more like he was afraid of hurting her?

"Your shoulder's not hurting anymore?" Oliver warm, worried words were still breaths along the back of her ear and the concern in them couldn't be clearer.

Still, it took Felicity two long breaths to realize what he was referring to. The cut that the foolish Frenchman had managed to give her when she'd been a little too slow last night. It'd been a flesh wound, really, even when it'd been bleeding badly enough to ensure there'd be no saving the shirt she'd been wearing at the time. It'd missed any arteries or tendons, opening only some of the slender veins in the skin, but it'd been painful for a while because it was near enough to everything in the deltoid region to aggravate everything for a time. Even when Oliver and Diggle had been pressing an ice pack upon her though, the injury was more than half-healed. To them it'd likely looked like it'd happened weeks ago, her admittance that it was right outside their hideout the only limit on that timeframe. And the major aggravator, too, when she hadn't managed to hide it from Oliver's observant eyes with thin bandages under a thick sweater. Yes, it had still been healing then when the enraged men had been staring at it and trying to coddle her this morning. But by the time she'd finished her Gothic makeup this afternoon that healing was done. It was only a scar now, no pain at all, and in a matter of days it might not even be that much of a mark upon her skin. Not that she could tell Oliver Queen or John Diggle that.

Which was why Felicity flinched a little as she tugged her shoulder free; much more because she _hated_ lying to him than any fear he might realize her leather coat and the long sleeves of the clingy v-neck underneath weren't hiding bandages on her upper arm. "I'm fine," she answered firmly, determined to stick to that truth. Still, she couldn't meet even the reflection of Oliver's eyes as he studied her while she murmured a sincere but sad, "Thank you."

"You should keep icing it," he told her calmly, his tone more careful now, undoubtedly in response to her own withdrawal. "For the pain."

Felicity snorted, making her eyes meet his in the mirror as she answered, "Says the man who had to have his gunshot wound re-stitched twice because he couldn't take it easy even for a few days after getting shot?"

"You like watching me work out," Oliver answered mildly.

Felicity refused to let the heat flooding her cheeks stop her dry response, "Which is why I'm glad I never saw you fall from the salmon ladder all bloody from your stitches tearing. It would've _completely_ ruined the distraction for me."

Oliver rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as they slipped from both of the almost opposite emotional extremes they'd covered in the last few minutes to cautious teasing. "I never fell from the salmon ladder." But then he tried reaching for her shoulder again, "Let me check—"

"No," Felicity ducked and twisted away to avoid both his hands, which grasped at midair for barely half-a-second after missing the previously injured appendage, before falling to his sides. "It's fine. I'm fine, Oliver."

It was actually easier, talking to his face rather than his reflection. Maybe because the duplicity of the lies she had to tell was staring back at her from her own double in the mirror? The lies she'd always had to tell were never really not hard, but at times like these they were so much harder...

"It could get infected—"

"It's not." Felicity didn't feign any uncertainty there, knowing absolute certainty was needed now.

"You can't know that—"

"Oliver," she cut him off, meeting his gaze calmly. "I'm _fine_."

"Guys," Digg's voice was flat as he called back to them again, not questioning or even suspicious, but then again he hadn't come back here to find them either.

"Be right there, Digg," Felicity made herself call back, turning just her neck back towards the mirror—still keeping her previously injured shoulder away from the mortal man that fit her type in every way—as she gave her reflection one more once-over.

The gothic makeup was out of place without the wig, but she wasn't going to try washing off eyeliner and mascara without makeup remover. Trying to take off water-proof makeup with water was just impractical after all, and an exercise in frustration. So she made herself ignore it, for now, and turned to go see what her babies were beeping about.

By the time she'd turned to go back out, Oliver had already left. Felicity, of course, felt bad for feeling relieved to hear the clanging of his climb up the salmon ladder start up at an especially brutal pace even before she'd stepped through the washroom doorway.

But they had an assassination to stop; a life, and more, to save. That had to put anything else—even all the secrets maybe blocking what was building between them—on a back burner.

For now.

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Bam, bam! Bam-bam-bam! Bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Beep!_

 _Bam, bam! Bam! Bam!_

All the way up to the top, and then the controlled, slightly easier descent back down, nearly ignoring the sounds of Diggle also working out by battling the Wing Chun dummy. The beep in the background (from Felicity's computers) was a little harder to tune out, but both of them knew better than to try and shut it off themselves. Not when she should be out sometime soon.

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up... THUD!_

 _Bam-Bam! Bam-Bam, Bam!_

 _Swing, kip up... THUD!_

 _Bam-Bam-Bam! Bam, Bam!_

 _Swing, kip up... THUD!_

 _Beep!_

Oliver wasn't counting as he made his way up and down the ladder, his body so used to the exercise by now that it performed on autopilot. Usually a good way to clear his head, organize his thoughts and all that, while keeping fighting trim at the same time. Usually.

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Bam, Bam-Bam!_

He knew what he should be thinking about. What he and Diggle were waiting for Felicity to come back out to discuss after she'd made the computers stop beeping. But there was just too much else he was trying to make himself not think about. Trying to shove to the back of his mind until he actually had _time_ to think about it.

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Bam-bam-bam! Bam, bam! Bam!_

Someone was going to try to kill Mister Merlyn tonight. In front of all of most of Starling City's 'elite.'

Including Tommy, thanks to him.

And probably his mother, because Moira Queen couldn't miss an event like the awarding of Starling City's Humanitarian of the Year.

He should probably be thankful his mother hadn't tried to talk him into going. That being Acting-C.E.O of _Queen Consolidated_ had kept her too busy to be all that involved in her children's lives since Walter's disappearance. Still, he'd been a little surprised by his mom never mention it. Especially since the award was going to Tommy's dad-like Dad.

And despite believing what he'd said to his best friend, Oliver _did_ understand where Tommy's reservations about his father had come from. His mom's murder and his father's abandoning him at Queen Mansion had been a pretty big deal even when Oliver was a kid. Yes, it meant his best friend was living with him then, and it was very much like having a brother, which was pretty much what they'd become to each other. But even so, it'd always weighted on his friend; weights pretty much everyone knew to avoid.

Most didn't realize Tommy had only seen his father once after his mother's funeral before he'd disappeared, with no contact at all, for two whole years. Most didn't realize that Oliver's dad had even stepped up to handle things at _Merlyn Global_ in that time-period. To most, Tommy's mom had been murdered and then his grieving father just wasn't seen for a while. Few knew his son hadn't seen him at all either.

But it should mean something that he was trying now, shouldn't it? Even cutting Tommy off could be construed as maybe a good thing—if that hadn't happened would he ever have been comfortable being anything other than a billionaire ex-playboy if his father hadn't taken the money away?

Sure Laurel might've had more luck getting him to settle down than she had with Oliver; they were half a decade older and it seemed like Tommy really did want that, but... Well, it wasn't like Oliver had come back to find them already dating. It was like they'd both been waiting for him to return from the dead before trying to move on with their lives. For Laurel that was only romantically, but for Tommy that could very well have been every aspect of his life.

After all, it'd meant a lot to Oliver that Tommy hadn't been willing to give up on him; tracking him down to Hong Kong even three years after his presumed death after what'd probably just been a passing comment from Oliver's mother or sister about someone hacking his account. It'd meant a lot, too, that Tommy seemed to be trying to look after Thea even though she'd become a rebellious (and drug-addicted) teenager. But despite a few 'lapses' with Laurel, Tommy hadn't worked up the nerve to actually date her until Oliver had indirectly given him his blessing. And Tommy himself had said he'd needed 'a swift kick in his lazy ass...'

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam-Bam!_

Mister Merlyn had been a cold-hearted, cut-throat businessman for as long as Oliver could remember. The embodiment of almost everything that'd made 'Ollie' _not_ want to grow up into that sort of role. The other side of that coin being his own father, who'd never seemed quite as cold, but had fallen from the pedestal his son had looked up to him on when said son was old enough to realize what'd happened almost every time he and Thea heard their parents shouting behind closed doors that. Those doors had muffled most of the sound but not all of it, and they didn't hide their mother's angry tears either.

The realization of what'd led to each of those bad memories; the shouts, his mother's tears and his father's sagging shoulders, hadn't made the idea of long-term, committed relationships easy for their son. After all, if his larger-than-life father couldn't stay loyal to the woman he loved; how could Oliver hope to? Because it wasn't a question of love; he knew his parents had loved each other... still, it'd never been enough. Not for Robert Queen.

 _Swing, kip up...THUD!_

 _Bam, bam! Bam!_

 _Beep!_

 _Bam-bam-bam!_

None of that meant that Mister Merlyn deserved to die though. Sure, the man was ruthless in business, but he was receiving the award for Starling City's Humanitarian of the Year tonight. _Merlyn Global_ didn't do quite as much as _Queen Consolidated_ when it came to fundraisers to help the less fortunate of Starling City, but as far as Oliver knew pretty much every charity that Q.C started or endorsed, M.G did, too. And vice-versa.

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up...THUD!_

 _Bam! Bam! Bam, Bam!_

That may partially be because it was good press. It may be because it was expected. It might mostly be in memory of the wife Merlyn had lost to violence in the Glades when she'd been trying to help people there over two decades ago. But the reasons didn't matter when they led to good deeds.

And no matter how bad a father Malcolm Merlyn had been for most of Tommy's life he'd also been recognized as a great, if cold, man.

A man who had reached out, trying to reconnect with his son after all this time.

A man who probably cut Tommy off just to make him grow up. Who likely saw Oliver's out-of-the-blue return to Starling, whereupon he'd seemed to resume and his old playboy ways, as something Tommy needed saving from, and had done the only thing he could think of.

And it'd worked. It'd sucked for Tommy, sure, but so had the last five years of Oliver's life. And the end result for Tommy was the meaningful relationship he was continuing to manage with Laurel, starting a successful business that Oliver really only funded to use as a cover, and maybe the best lesson he could've learned: that he _didn't_ _need_ his father's money. Whether Merlyn eventually turned the switch back on or Tommy didn't become a billionaire again until his father's will was read, it was ultimately a good lesson for Oliver's friend.

 _Beep!_

 _Swing, kip up...THUD!_

 _Bam! Bam, bam! Bam-bam-bam!_

Even if a part of Tommy would always hate his dad for that, and for so many things... he was still his dad. A point Oliver had seen hit home, had meant it to, had known it would. And why Tommy would be there tonight, to maybe watch his dad die.

 _Bam, bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Beep!_

 _Bam-bam-bam! Bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

So why was it so hard for Oliver to stop wondering if Paul Starek's name was anywhere in the List? If he'd just missed it the two times he'd flipped through the worn pages since they'd gotten back, or if it might've been on the pages he'd torn out and burned in his ignorance years back?

Why was it so impossible to forget the invasive, too-interested questions the man had hit Felicity with when he thought he had her completely alone in a little, locked room on an empty floor?

Why couldn't Oliver forget the sight of her walking out of _Merlyn Global_ as fast as she could without drawing, only to hide inside her helmet and cling to him? Why was it so very hard to let go, at least for now, when he knew she was all right? Knew that she was safe in the Foundry right now? Walking towards her computers as he made the next drop.

 _Swing, kip up... THUD._

 _Bam-bam-bam!_

 _Swing, kip up...THUD!_

 _Bam, bam! Bam!_

 _Click-click, click-click._

Was it because she was already hurt?

Or because it was right outside the Foundry?

Felicity had never been here by herself. Oliver had left her alone with Diggle once or twice, and sometimes he was the only one here when she left, but either one of them would've protected her. He had a very hard time accepting that she didn't just run back into the Foundry, when someone threatened her right outside his door.

Worse, when someone hurt her with them none the wiser. All she had to do was make it back to the door and scream and they would've run to help her as fast as they could. Hell, the walls weren't _that_ thick, they probably would've heard her scream from outside anyway. So why didn't she?

 _Bam! Bam, bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Click, click, click, click._

 _Bam-bam-bam!_

Instead she didn't even tell them?

She tried to _hide_ it?

Was _still_ trying to hide it?

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Bam, bam! Bam! Bam-bam-bam!_

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

 _ **Why?**_

 _Bam-bam-bam! Bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Bam, bam!_

 _Click-click, click... clack._

"Okay," the tech girl's satisfied voice drew his eyes down to the crown of her again golden head just as she looked up, her still gothic makeup and lack of glasses making her brilliant eyes a surprise. "Everything's set at _Merlyn Global_ now," she looked away from his steady stare from halfway up the ladder, back at her monitors. "Looks like they're almost ready for the party, too."

"Yeah, that's the catering crew for the actual event," Diggle agreed as he went around the tables to see her monitors now, gesturing towards the screen before wrapping a towel around the nape of his neck. "When's it start?"

"Eight o'clock," Felicity shook her head. "Late enough to avoid serving dinner. So... just over three hours."

Oliver released his grip on the bar and dropped down, despite the fact that the brief workout hadn't cleared his head at all or made any of his muscles complain yet. "I should—"

"Plan what we're going to be doing three hours from now?" Felicity interjected, her bright blue eyes stern as she caught his, all earlier reluctance to lock gazes gone somewhere else.

Oliver sighed, "The Hood's going to stop them, Felicity. Obviously."

"But you don't have to stop them alone," she insisted, shaking her head and hurrying on before he could reply. "You can't. I mean, you don't even know if this is going to be the Triad trying to kill Tommy's father themselves or if they've brought someone else to Starling to replace Guillermo Barrera."

"She's got a point, Oliver," Digg interjected, meeting his frown with that steady calm look. "You said yourself that Barrera was world-class. Merlyn's definitely a high-profile. A target worthy of him, but he's dead. You really think the Triad's going to try taking him out on their own?"

"No, maybe not," Oliver sighed, snagging a water bottle off the table nearest the ladder and dropping onto the same seat he'd thrown his leather coat over as he'd headed for said ladder. "We can't know that," he admitted, taking a gulp of water before gesturing towards the computers as he swallowed it, then asking, "That's why we wanted control of the cameras, remember?"

"Well, mostly, yeah," Felicity agreed, her eyes on her monitor's again when he looked at her. "There's a lot of other information on M.G's server too though."

Oliver frowned, "What'd you mean?"

The blonde's eye roll was somehow also emphasized by all the dark shadows and lines around her eyes. He wasn't sure what she'd done in the washroom after he'd left her sans wig, because all that make-up seemed to still be there. "Aren't you the least bit curious about _why_ the Chinese Mafia wants Malcolm Merlyn dead?"

Oliver ignored the glance Diggle gave him. "Someone hired them. That's why they call it 'organized crime,' crime's their business," he answered flatly, then pointed out. "That's probably not something that's going to be on _Mister Merlyn's_ company's computer system."

"Maybe, maybe not," Felicity shrugged, surprising him more because she didn't wince when she did it despite there being _no_ way that shoulder movement didn't jolt her injury. "No harm in looking, right?"

Oliver immediately shook his head. "We can look into the Triad and who hired them afterwards. Right now it's Mister Merlyn we need to worry about."

"Of course," Felicity nodded, then paused, before pointing out. "You know, we could just tell the police."

"What?" Oliver blinked at her.

Because, really? After making him go along with her undercover jaunt she was really going to say that maybe none of it was necessary? While still wearing the outfit and makeup from said jaunt?

"There's plenty of time for them to cancel the gala, make sure no one shows up for it. Not Mister Merlyn. Not Tommy. Not anyone."

Oliver was considering it, because he'd told her he would, when he saw Diggle shaking his head.

"The Triad'll go after him anyway," the bodyguard pointed out. "Target him some time and place we won't know to be to stop it." Digg grimaced. "Doesn't matter why they want him dead, right? Whether someone hired him or he just pissed them off. They've decided to kill him."

"Could be," Oliver agreed, closing his eyes as he observed. "The time and place are pretty specific. And specifically public. That means someone wants it done that way. There: tonight."

"So the gala should be canceled?" Felicity asked hopefully.

And, it hit him then, maybe the mission she'd seemed to handle so unexpectedly well till that creep was too interested in her had upset her. A lot more than she was letting on.

The vigilante shook his head another time as he tapped down the urge to scan the List a third time for that bastard's name. "There's still the chance they'll go after him anyway, no matter where he is. And Digg's right; it has to be tonight. If the police put him in protective custody they'll be hiding him from both the Triad and me." He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. "If the Hood stops them tonight, though, it might be enough to scare their employer off. And them, too, depending on the who the client is."

"The Triad and the Bratva have been battling over scraps since the Huntress had them take her father down," Diggle observed. "They've mostly left the Hood alone."

"The Bratva have no issue with the vigilante yet," Oliver sighed, rolling his shoulder as he finally gave in and tugged his t-shirt off, too. "I've tried to avoid that. Most of their crime here in Starling hasn't been violent. The war with the Triad's the exception more than the rule."

"Because of you?" Felicity wondered, gesturing towards his chest when he blinked at her. "I mean, because you're..."

Oliver glanced down at the specific tattoo as she trailed off, then frowned at her again. "How do you know what this means?"

Felicity's pale pink tongue was impossible to miss when it licked her purple lips before she admitted, "I may have hacked a database with... images like that at one point or another. It means you're a captain, right?"

Every time Felicity Smoak revealed something it just seemed to bring more and more questions.

How could she recognize what his Bratva tattoo meant? Recognize it, and not react, or even say anything until now; in an offhanded comment that made it plain she didn't really consider it all that relevant?

No matter what secrets she had hidden inside that brilliant, beautiful head of hers, how could Oliver being a member—let alone a captain in—the Russian mob be something she'd just let slide when she'd stood up to him about pointing arrows anywhere near a widower with a young son?

Oliver nodded, but didn't let it go, "What database?" he pressed, shifting his chair to be able to watch her unbothered profile as she shrugged again without even a twitch after moving her hurt shoulder.

"One of many places I hacked just to prove I could," the I.T girl said like she was talking about paint drying. She didn't even sound interested enough for it to be paint on a painting; no, it was definitely the most boring, just off-white wall in a room that she didn't like.

"Why?" Diggle wondered, and Oliver could see the same puzzlement in his gaze as he watched her.

For someone so good at their vocation, who clearly took pride in their work and had seemed so offended by the suggestion that she couldn't hack _Merlyn Global_ at all, she seemed to regard her past exploits with no regard at all.

Felicity snorted, "It's what hackers do, till they get caught or grow up," she sighed, her eyes scanning the screen full of computer codes as she typed. "The good ones, anyway. Some manage to avoid both a lot longer than others."

Oliver didn't try to read the codes, making the mistake of staring at the similar screens had always resulted in a headache before. "What databases? When?" he demanded specifically, not entirely sure why he was asking about that when it was her lack of reaction that really bothered him, but he didn't know how to ask about that either. Maybe it had something to do with how he knew from the set of her shoulders that she was rolling her eyes before she answered, now turned again so that her back was almost to him.

"How about any law enforcement agency that's arrested members of the Russian mob and noticed they all have similar tattoos in common?" she sighed when she glanced back at him and spotted his frown. "I don't remember where I first saw it, Oliver. Why does it matter?"

"It was before you helped me stitch him up though," Diggle interjected instead of giving him a chance to choose to respond.

"Yeah," she didn't deny it, or hide her boredom at all as she added a touch sarcastically, "So?"

"It doesn't bother you?" Oliver finally just asked, because he couldn't think of anything else to say and it was the real issue anyway.

Felicity glanced back at him, meeting his stare steadily as she slowly shook her head. "No." Then she cocked her head to the side. "Well, bother me; no. Confuse me? Definitely."

Oliver felt his shoulders loosen as that bubbly animation—he realized he'd been missing—slipped back into her features and her voice like it hadn't inexplicably vanished these last few minutes. He didn't even care what she was talking about, or that Diggle was nodding in smirking agreement.

"I mean, you were stuck on an island near China. And the you before the island wasn't really a Russian criminal mastermind, or any one of those three, really," the blonde looked back at her computers, clearly not expecting an answer as she babbled on. "So all I've thought of so far is that the Russian mob was running drugs or something through there and that that has something to do with some of your scars, but I can't see how that'd lead to you becoming a captain. I mean, it didn't make all that much sense to me when Jack Sparrow was talking about rum runners either, and Caribbean rum runners in the 18th century were a lot more laidback than the Bratva. Probably. Especially the 'good pirates,' since the pirates are technically the good guys in the movies as long as they're not mutineers. Depending on which movie, of course."

Oliver blinked, "What?"

Felicity frowned at him like he was the one saying nonsense, "Oh come on! Pirates of the Caribbean? The first one was well before your shipwreck! No, that was oh-seven, so the first three were already out!"

He could only blink at that, really having no idea what she was talking about. "Sorry?"

The blonde sigh, shaking her head sadly. "Never mind," she was almost pouting as she looked at the noticeably amused Diggle then. "You wanted him to actually plan, too, right?"

The ex-soldier nodded. "Better to plan when we can," he agreed, catching Oliver's gaze.

And it wasn't that the vigilante particularly disagreed. Planning had a place in what they did. But there was a lot that couldn't be planned for, and a part of him didn't like wasting time planning something that'd probably go out the window as soon as whatever the Triad was planning started.

"So we're back to whether or not the Triad's had time to replace Barrera then?" Diggle clarified.

Oliver shook his head. "There's no way to know for sure. There've been no alerts still, right?" he raised an eyebrow at Felicity when she frowned at him, knowing full-well that that frown was at the reminder that he'd hijacked one of her hacks not long ago to go after the assassin who's planned arrival had suddenly diverted Detective Lance's team from scouring the streets of Starling for the Hood. Only after a not at all wanted phone call from the head of ARGUS, but that wasn't something he'd told either of them about yet.

He was actually a bit surprised she hadn't protested that hijack. But not nearly as surprised as he was by both her bemused, unquestioning acceptance of his Bratva ties and her strange dislike of her own past as a computer hacker.

"No alerts at all," Felicity confirmed, making an all encompassing gesture with one hand as she went on, "From the S.C.P.D's poor servers or various other places that might pay attention to Starling."

"Doesn't mean someone isn't here," Diggle observed, then motioned to one of Felicity's monitors with another frown. "What I still don't get is what use a knife-fighter would be for an assassination like this. It's too public."

Oliver nodded, then shrugged. "It might not make sense even after we figure out who's behind it," he pointed out. "Assassinations aren't supposed to make sense."

"Still, you've gotta admit that a sniper, or an archer," Diggle nodded to him. "Would make more sense for something like this."

"Someone like the Dark Archer, you mean?" Felicity glanced between them, her voice careful and worried as she added, "He hasn't been seen in Starling since—"

"Since he nearly killed me," Oliver cut in, not able to stop himself from thinking back to that night that'd come as such a shock to his believes about himself as a fighter.

The Dark Archer had been more than skilled. He'd been cold, ruthless and absolutely brutal.

All things Oliver only really pretended to be when he wore the Hood. It came easily when he was terrorizing criminals and corrupt businessmen alike. But that night he'd nearly died. He'd had to run away for the first time in a long time. For the first time ever as the Hood. And no matter how much he disliked that name in general, he recognized the importance of the image.

The hostages making it out alive, praising his arrival as the reason for their survival, didn't really help.

Not when he'd barely escaped himself.

Not when Diggle had had to come carry his broken body away from the edges of the scene.

Now when he knew that the Dark Archer could've killed all the hostages if he'd wanted to. That the only thing the Hood, that Oliver, had really done that night that amounted to saving them was his answering the other archer's demand for a meeting and then getting pulverized while the terrified civilians ran away.

"What if he is there tonight?" Felicity asked him, her concerned voice forcing his mind back to the present, and the painted-on shadows around her worried eyes emphasized all those emotions just as well as her beauty by itself.

She really did care. It was impossible not to see that.

She cared for him.

It wasn't just the crush he'd deliberately taken advantage of when she'd just been the tech he'd picked out of the I.T department after recognizing her pretty face in the Q.C employee database. The crush that she'd _let_ him take advantage of—how he hadn't noticed at the time Oliver wasn't sure, but he couldn't miss it looking back.

Felicity had really just been indulging him more often than not. Did she really just equate simple flirting and smiles being worth the hassle that his odd jobs must've been for her? Of course there was also the fact that his family owned the company, which probably went a long way in making sure her supervisors didn't say much about when he interrupted her work hours...

Though, come to think of it, Oliver still had to look into the supervisor she didn't like, just to be sure he was as harmless as she'd insisted every time he'd actually asked. Because even if she enjoyed flirting and was aware of his name being on the side of the building, Felicity _had_ helped him before just because she was a good person who helped others. Her finding out his secret just meant more justification—and maybe moral debates—for her conscious, and real secrets she had to keep keeping. If her supervisor was hassling her, despite the ridiculous hours she was keeping at her job on top of coming to the Foundry every night since he'd pulled back the Hood in her backseat, Oliver would put a stop to that. Because whether her crush was any factor at all in her compassion and helpfulness, it only added another edge to the responsibility Oliver felt towards her.

He couldn't not feel responsible. Protective. Not when he remembered the understanding and acceptance that'd flashed through her eyes when he'd all but begged her to save his life by taking him to Diggle instead of a hospital. That she'd agreed to help him, and she'd followed through, and stayed until she was sure he was going to be alright. How she'd nagged him more than once whenever she'd thought he was pushing himself to hard in the weeks that followed...

Felicity Smoak didn't seem to care for herself much at all. She was perfectly willing to give up any pretense of a social life most nights to just come work on the computers down here. Mostly looking for Walter at first, but always helping out whenever she could. Almost from the start all but ignoring the counter-offer she'd insisted upon herself when he'd asked her that night if she was going to stay. Something neither Oliver or Digg had questioned because she was too damn useful to discourage, even if the ambiguity confused the both of them.

It was worse, though, that she didn't tell them when someone hurt her. That she didn't want them trying to take care of her regardless of how much she tried to take care of them. It was a mix that Oliver recognized; but that didn't mean he liked it. Because _she_ deserved better than _he_ did.

"Oliver?" the woman herself brought him out of his thoughts. "I've looked for signs of him since that night, but I honestly haven't seen anything."

He shook his head, meeting her worried gaze calmly. "We don't know if the Dark Archer is a professional for hire or just someone with a personal vendetta and the skills to back it up, so we have no way of knowing if he might be there. That's why we wanted control of the cameras, remember?" he repeated his earlier reminder, though there was more warmth and a lot less exasperation in his voice as he said it.

Felicity swallowed before nodding.

Diggle spoke up again then, pointing to the blueprints of _Merlyn Global_ that they'd had all day to study, both for their impromptu break-in and for whatever was coming tonight. "A sniper, or archer, will have to wait for Merlyn to come outside," he indicated to the floor plan of the first floor where the party would be taking place. "Even with all the windows, there's no clear line of sight into the lobby."

"Not since the major renovations Mister Merlyn ordered after he came back from mourning his wife's murder," Felicity agreed, pointing to the older set of blueprints she'd found at some point before closing them. "He's kept all the security state-of-the-art since that leave of absence. Understandably."

"Yeah..." Oliver agreed, because no matter how much of bastard Malcolm Merlyn had become after Tommy's mother was murdered, it couldn't be denied that Rebecca Merlyn's death was a terribly traumatic cause. Still, he couldn't help but be a little relieved as he eyed the most recent blueprints and saw that Digg was right. "So at least it won't be the UNIDAC auction all over again." But he frowned as he remembered a common denominator between the two events. "Can either of you think of any way to keep my mother from showing up tonight?"

Even though he was still suspicious of Moira Queen, Diggle winced sympathetically as he shook his head. "No, man. Sorry."

"...No," Felicity answered flatly. But it was a little too late and the tone was wrong: almost defensive.

So Oliver seized on it. "Felicity?"

Her purple lips frowned as she answered, "No, I can't think of anything we should do."

"Should?" Oliver caught the clarification. "Not 'could?'"

The blonde shook her head, a furious motion that really should make her hurt shoulder scream, but her face stayed fixed in that pretty, heavily make-upped frown. "The only thing I can think of that might work would be really, really _mean_ , Oliver. You _don't_ want to do it to your mother."

It took him only a few seconds to realize what her brain had gone to much faster than his. "Walter?" he winced as he said his missing step-father's name.

Diggle grimaced too, but he was shaking his head. "If he was actually found, she'd probably go wherever he is, but she's not going to drop everything—"

"Unless she's absolutely certain," Oliver nodded, turning it over in his head. But not quite fixedly enough to miss the stiff frown that was still on his I.T girl's face. "Felicity?" he watched her struggle for a second, that frown flickering; fighting with grimaces and another headshake. So he pressed, "Felicity, if there's a way to keep her from being in danger..." He trailed off as he watched her tiredly fold.

"She probably would. Drop everything, I mean. If they found a body."

The idea hit him in the gut harder than any of the Dark Archer's rib-breaking kicks had last December. And Oliver understood completely why she hated the idea.

The idea that might work.

But could he really do _that_ to his mother?

At this point, the odds all said that Walter Steele was probably dead. But until they found a body, his mother and Thea could still hold out hope. And so could Felicity. Taking that hope away, even temporarily, would be cruel.

Oliver thought about it for several long moments.

Thought about how worried Thea had been; how she'd talked about their brave, strong mother hiding away from the world after _The Gambit_ was lost at sea and her husband and son, half their family, with it. How it'd been Walter Steele who'd eventually drawn her out of her depression, helping her heal and mourn healthily, and then winning the hearts of both the Queen ladies in the years that followed.

He remembered being worried himself at how his mom had shut down after Walter vanished; hadn't been sure what to make of it or what he could do to help, and then very relieved when duty had drawn her out again.

Duty and hope.

Because it was obvious that she hoped she wasn't a widow again. She and Thea both desperately hoped that Walter would be found, be brought back to them like Oliver had been.

It'd taken Oliver five years to come back to them. To come home against all the impossible odds. To come home a very different man. Tortured, secretive, duty-bound. About as different as he could be from the boy that'd run away from the very idea of playing house with Laurel Lance and carelessly, cruelly, taken her sister along too.

Not that he let them see how different he was if he could help it, but he knew better than to think that the woman who'd raised him and the little girl that'd turned into a teenager—a young woman; damn it—while he was 'away' wouldn't notice more differences than he really wanted them to.

Just like Oliver had noticed the extra weight to the quiet glances that they kept sending his way when they thought he wouldn't notice. But he'd seen both of them remind themselves, many times more than once, that Oliver—their son and brother— _had_ come home to them, so Walter—their husband and step-father— _could,_ _too_.

After all, Walter Steele had just been kidnapped by someone who apparently hadn't—and still wasn't—interested in any kind of ransom. Kidnapped didn't have to mean killed, no ransom or not. He hadn't been on a boat that'd vanished in a storm somewhere on the Pacific Ocean when it was blown apart. Walter's odds were better than Oliver's ever had been.

And that was something his mother and sister clearly felt guilty for taking comfort in. His mother hid her glances better, but the last five years had made sure that there was very little Oliver Queen missed, even among those he loved. Maybe especially there, because the idea of missing something that might lead to losing one of them, any of them, made up the worst kind of hell in his nightmares...

Still, he couldn't take that little remnant of hope from them. Even temporarily.

Oliver studied the blueprints, again, just to be sure. Then he sighed. "This is a specific hit on one man at an event he has to attend as the guest of honor. There's no reason any of the guests should be in danger."

"I can go inside," Diggle volunteered, not quite unexpectedly in that judgment-free tone that never quite hid the thoughts in his dark eyes, which were understanding and almost as openly approving as Felicity's purple-lipped, relieved smile. "Say you sent me. She'll think you're back to deliberately losing me, but if we don't push it she'll probably let it go. And let me stay since I'm already there."

Oliver looked away from the blueprints to meet his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."

Diggle returned the nod.

"I could—" Felicity started to say, too, but Oliver cut her off.

"No," he told her firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"Oliver," she sighed, shaking her head as she went on. "There's going to be hundreds of people the Triad won't care about there tonight. They're much more likely to notice Digg, a real bodyguard, than me—"

"Someone might recognize you," Oliver interrupted again, suppressing a wince right away at the weakness of that risk.

After all, if the dramatic change in her appearance had shocked him this afternoon, he had no doubt she could change her appearance again more than enough to not be linked to the Goth I.T expert from Q.C that'd visited earlier in the afternoon. Add to that the fact that all three of the people she actually talked to there probably wouldn't be at that party, and Felicity's eye-roll was completely expected.

"Trust me, if I throw on jewelry, the right red dress and doll myself up just so, even someone studying the security footage side-by-side wouldn't notice I was the same person," she reassured him dryly, jerking her chin at the monitors. "The image isn't good enough to enhance, either.

Diggle spoke up then, while Oliver was trying to banish the picture she'd painted from his head. "The two security guards will be gone, but the cyber-security guy—what was his name? Starek?— _he_ might recognize you, Felicity."

That, at least, seemed to ring true to her, because she did pause to visibly consider it. It also giving Oliver the time to seize on another valid argument.

"And we need your right here." He told her firmly, indicating the monitors. "Being our eyes and ears, for the Triad, the police, everything." Oliver raised an eyebrow at her, keeping his expression steadily serious without letting any of his desperation to keep her out of the field show in even a frown. "That's what this afternoon was really about, remember?" he reminded her yet again as she wavered.

Finally, she sighed, and nodded. "Okay..."

Diggle looked almost as relieved as Oliver felt as he returned them to the planning. "Merlyn has a steady private security detail. They'll probably be the only other ones at risk," He grimaced and added, "More so if the Triad couldn't find a replacement for Barrera."

"There's six exits from the main floor," Oliver observed, still studying the blueprints. "In an emergency Mister Merlyn's bodyguards wouldn't risk the rush for the main exits, they'd take him up to the second floor, through the executive exit to the parking garage."

"If the Triad doesn't have anybody inside to take them out," Digg interjected. "If they do, they might try to take him, too."

"They won't, if they can avoid it," Oliver shook his head another time. Sure of that, despite his earlier insistence that they couldn't be completely sure. "That'll bring all the S.C.P.D scrutiny just on them. And it's not the way they work."

"The way they work?" Felicity repeated questioningly, clearly curious. That clear curiosity about the criminal underworld would probably surprise him more if she hadn't just confessed to hacking 'someone who'd know'—and that could be anyone from the S.C.P.D to ARGUS or the F.B.I—enough times to not really recall which time it was that she'd seen the Bratva Captain tattoo she'd recognized inked over his heart. (He really hoped it wasn't ARGUS though; the calls he already got from Amanda were bad enough.)

The vigilante nodded, "The Triad doesn't usually send their enforcers after civilians."

"They went after Laurel a few months back," Digg pointed out, but he wasn't disagreeing.

"Laurel was actively antagonizing them by going after Somers and endangering their operations in his port," Oliver explained with a grimace at the memory.

And the fact that it wasn't the only time that he'd had to rescue his ex-girlfriend from near-certain death. Nor would it probably be the last. He had to wonder how she'd survived the five years he wasn't here... but then again, maybe her seeming obsession with ignoring risks to herself had something to do with his return? Then again, she wasn't the only woman Oliver knew who's self-preservation could be greatly improved upon.

"And it's not against any of their specific oaths, but most of those oaths are about protecting themselves and each other. Law enforcement mostly ignores the murders that are obviously part of organized crime. Criminals killing criminals. A Triad enforcer killing a Bratva associate isn't worth police resources when the Bratva will respond long before they have enough evidence to arrest anyone."

"But a high-profile target like Malcolm Merlyn would bring too much heat," Diggle agreed, then shook his head. "Still not sure why they thought killing a cop's daughter and the two cops guarding her wouldn't have the S.C.P.D up in arms after them."

Oliver sighed, "That was before mob-war Helena started. Before what was left of the Italian mob in Starling closed ranks and the Bratva started picking at them both while they were down. They have to be more careful now." He considered a moment. "And their Leader was almost killed by Helena, that was how she got Chien Na Wei to respond so aggressively that night. That response was expected, but they've been a lot more cautious since then."

"Almost killed?" Felicity was blinking at him in surprise. "What? Did she miss?"

"Must have," Oliver shrugged. "Maybe she left him alive to make sure they'd attack her father. I didn't really think she was a good enough shot, crossbow or gun, but at point-blank range it's harder to miss."

"Pretty hard to deliberately leave someone alive, too," Digg opined. "And your crazy ex-girlfriend's not known for that."

"She's not," Oliver agreed, completely ignoring the ex-soldier's epithet for the woman he'd tried to save from herself. Though he had to suppress a wince when he spotted the glance his not-yet girlfriend shot between him and his pseudo-bodyguard at the designation. "The Bratva thought Zhishan was killed that night, actually. Only realized he survived when he showed up for a negotiation the week before last. Apparently fine."

"Well, near-death experiences tend to make most people more cautious," Diggle agreed, not even trying to pretend it wasn't a dig at Oliver's 'too-fast' bounce back from 'letting his mother shoot him.' "And even though the Chinese mob's not shy about collateral damage—they killed two cops and would've killed us, too, that night they went after Laurel—you're probably right." The former soldier shrugged. "Why else would they have gone through the trouble of hiring Barrera in the first place?" Then he shook his head. "Still not sure what they wanted a knife specialist to do. His knives never would've made it through the metal detectors."

"There are ways around those," Oliver shrugged. "But Barrera's not in the picture anymore." He looked at Felicity, "I assume there haven't been any alerts about other assassins entering the country?"

"No, again. Not to the S.C.P.D or a few other places," Felicity confirmed evenly, shrugging again in that way that surprisingly, somehow didn't seem to pain her injured shoulder. "But I never saw anything about Brutale coming to Starling until the Hood killed him, either."

"'Brutale'?" Diggle asked before Oliver could decide if he wanted to.

"That's Interpol's codename for Señor Barrera," Felicity told them dryly. "Or it was." The look she shot the vigilante then was definitely disapproving. "You know, it's one thing to charge out after one-percenter's that are probably going to start crying as soon as they realize you're there. Another whole thing to go meet a 'world-class, high-profile assassin' without reading up on them at all first."

"There wasn't time," Oliver replied, not bothering to be overly defensive about it. He knew she was right, after all.

If the notice had come from anyone other than Amanda Waller he probably would've put more effort into finding Barrera _after_ the police arrived too late to catch him at the heliport. But the Head of ARGUS hadn't asked him for many favors since Hong Kong and the debacle of his first return to Lian Yu; and she'd helped him out more than once since his return to Starling, too. All that, and Oliver _had_ recognized the name; it'd taken him all of a minute to find him in the List. Meaning this was a professional killer who'd operated in Starling City before. So he'd trusted his skills, and Waller, enough to end Barrera before he could harm anyone in Starling City.

It was only afterwards that it occurred to Oliver that whoever the now dead assassin was hired to kill might still be in danger. But Waller wasn't interested in that. Just in ending the man that ARGUS recognized as a threat come to U.S soil that made Waller willing to trade more favors with one of the few—maybe the only man—in the world she'd let go despite his skill set.

"There's always time, Oliver," Felicity insisted, her frown still only a slight downturn of her lips. "If you'd told me to look him up, I could've told you everything Interpol knows about him while you were headed to the heliport. I could've told you when the police would be getting there. I—"

"Maybe I should've told you," Oliver allowed, raising a hand to forestall any further examples of how she could've helped.

He knew she could help, knew she wanted to help. That didn't mean he wanted her anywhere near an ARGUS assignment, even if it was an assassin on the List and in Starling. _Especially_ if it was an _assassin in Starling_ , actually. But it was obviously the deliberate exclusion had upset her, despite not intending to.

For another time, Oliver wasn't going to point out that she supposedly didn't want to be involved in anything other than finding Walter. That was a discussion he'd prefer to table till after his step-father was found, no matter how that turned out. Hopefully well though, both for his family and for Felicity.

Was it wrong that Walter Steele mattering so much to all the important women in Oliver's life made him matter a lot more to Oliver than any of the many reasons he _should_ want Walter to be found alive? It felt strange recognizing that the stranger was a missing piece in his family.

So it was much easier to recognize why Walter mattered to Felicity. She felt guilty. And she was much too good a person not to act on that guilt in any way she could. Fortunately she was also a genius, so her actions mostly made sense.

Less fortunately, since she was smarter than him and had very little self-preservation, Oliver wasn't entirely sure he could accurately predict what she might do in any given situation. Nonetheless, he obviously couldn't just shut her out and not tell her about anything particularly dangerous. Not just because it upset her; Oliver had a sneaking suspicion that Felicity had hacked the Interpol files on Guillermo Barrera A.K.A 'Brutale' _while_ she was hacking his phone.

Probably that same night, before she decided to go home to get her 'special code' (undoubtedly one of many), and Oliver had told her to get some rest and start fresh in the morning. After all, he hadn't been watching her monitors while she'd been typing away and Digg hadn't either, but there were only a few other times she could've looked the information up after she went home. One, after being attacked and not telling them about it after she got away (because the more he thought about it, the more it had to have happened last night, the small cut still looked too fresh last he'd looked). Or two, while she was prepping her 'Goth girl costume' for _Merlyn Global_. Neither of those two times seemed as likely as when she was typing away while they worked out.

"But Barrera's not the issue anymore," Oliver reminded her. "Saving Mister Merlyn from the Triad, and whoever they've contracted, is."

Felicity sighed, then nodded. "I have access to the M.G security system; I can take control of it at any time." She waived to the monitor that had the black-and-white viewed panels of several security viewpoints. "Anything except the Executive Floor. That's on a separate system, completely cut-off from outside access. Probably controlled from inside a panic room he has installed up there."

"Probably?" Diggle asked.

Their I.T girl shrugged yet again without wincing. "Only the general outline of that floor is in the blueprints. Where the elevators and stairs are; not any of the walls. But given how careful Mister Merlyn is about security, he's got to have a panic room up there."

"Makes sense that that's where he'd control his floor from," Diggle agreed, then frowned. "But there's no access to the other floors? Not even the cameras and phones?"

"The computers there have access to the servers, but it's one-way; has to be initiated from there. The phones and faxes are completely separate systems from each other, and the computers. Again, they have access on the Executive Floor, but not the other way around. And the actual controls for everything up there are air-gapped." Her fingers were flying over the keyboard as she checked something, then she nodded as she finished. "Even the Executive elevator can't be controlled by the security system or the fire alarms. And the floor has its own electric grid and generator, too."

"It's not paranoia if someone's actually out to get you," Diggle pointed out.

Oliver nodded his agreement, even though he was a bit surprised for just how prepared Malcolm Merlyn seemed to be for an attack. It might've made sense if Rebecca Merlyn was murdered inside _Merlyn Global_ or even the Merlyn Mansion, but both were figuratively—and somewhat literally—a very long way from The Glades.

Nonetheless, they'd already completed their 'mission' to infiltrate _Merlyn Global_ to gain access to their systems, and the party, along with everything that should happen tonight, was on the ground floor. It was useful to know that Mister Merlyn would be safe if he made it up to his office, but other than that all of the oddities Felicity was noting were irrelevant.

After all, Malcolm Merlyn wasn't anywhere on the List. And he was Tommy's dad. Who'd die in a matter of hours if the vigilante wasn't there to save him.

Oliver looked at his partner. "We'll need to use the comm. system again."

"The one I haven't secured, you mean?" Felicity interjected, her tone flatly knowing yet again. "'Cause there'll be police at _Merlyn Global_ , and they'll be using radios, too."

"The ones I have are secure from the police," Oliver reassured her. "We'll just need to keep chatter to a minimum." He ignored the slightly affronted pout the purple-lipped blonde gave him, and nodded to Digg. "And we'll need to stick to codenames."

"That mean I get to call your Robin?" Diggle's amused smirk only grew when Felicity laughed while Oliver immediately shook his head.

"No." The vigilante thought a moment, even though he'd thought about it more than once already, then his eyes went to his weapons of choice, and then to the golden hair that was hiding the earring that pierced the shell of Felicity's ear. "Arrow."

His two partners were silent a moment, contemplating it.

Then Diggle asked, "Not 'Green Arrow?'"

Oliver shook his head. "The Arrow."

Felicity tried to catch a laugh with her hand, but didn't quite make it before it'd slipped out. "Sorry," she said, smilingly when he looked at her. "It's just the 'The,' with capital letters. But you're right. It works." She kept smiling as her hand moved back towards her hidden ear, but she didn't brush her hair back with it as she giggled softly.

Diggle snorted, also smiling slightly when the vigilante looked at him. Then again it was hard not to smile when they were watching their I.T girl suppress giggles with the smile she wasn't even trying to hide anymore.

Even Oliver was grinning a little as he raised an eyebrow at his first partner in fighting crime. "What about you?"

The former soldier thought about it for a few long seconds, then decided. "Freelancer."

Oliver nodded. "That works. It'll even make it sound like you've just been brought on for this if anyone hears it." He looked at Felicity then. "Any name in mind for yourself?"

"I thought you wanted chatter kept to a minimum?" she asked him archly, but he could hear the edge of teasing that was also glimmering out of her beautiful, and still extremely emphasized, eyes.

"Doesn't mean you won't talk at all," Oliver shook his head, indicating the monitor with the security cameras views' still displayed. "We'll need you tracking everything you can from here, and keeping us in the loop as much as possible."

More than anything, Oliver needed to know that she'd stay here. Safe. No matter what happened. And since Diggle was going to be going in with him, the only way to make sure that happened was to either knock her out, tie her up, or keep her busy.

From the look she gave him, he was pretty sure she realized his thought process, but she must still think about those painful minutes when the Dodger's weapon was locked around her neck, too, because she didn't challenge him on it. Not yet anyway.

"Okay," Felicity turned back to her computers, typing quickly. "I won't be able to completely secure it. I still don't have the right system setup down here. But..." she typed a moment more, then nodded when a screen full of what might as well be gibberish (to Oliver and Diggle) appeared. "If I can find a radio frequency that isn't—"

"Don't worry about that," Oliver told her. "The comms I have are already setup, and the S.C.P.D won't be able to touch them. You can set your own system up when we get a chance, but these'll have to do for now."

"But—"

"Felicity, there isn't time," he cut in, only just able to keep himself from snapping the words after a glance at the clock that was still counting down the window of time till the party started. "I'll keep my voice-modulator on the whole time. We can add them to yours and Digg's so that no one will recognize your voices, alright?"

"Don't the ones you have already do that?" Diggle asked, because he'd already seen them. True, they hadn't used that feature earlier today, but they'd been careful not to speak more than they had to, too.

And he was right, that was built into the software: the sound was distorted by the broadcasting comm and unscrambled by the authorized receivers. But that same signal would consider _any_ ARGUS radio authorized. No matter how helpful Amanda Waller had been every time he'd gone to her in more recent years, when he couldn't think of anyone else and trading a favor with her seemed like the best option, that didn't mean he was willing to give her any freebies.

More to protect Felicity than Diggle, obviously. His personal so-called bodyguard who didn't have trouble keeping track of him anymore would obviously be one of the people working with him. Obviously to those in the know at ARGUS, at least. But Felicity should still be safe, even if they did start dating, and Oliver intended to keep her that way.

"No harm in being thorough," Oliver replied evenly, then raised an eyebrow at Felicity again. "You still needed a codename."

The blonde thought about it for a few more moments than he had, then her eyes went to her computers speculatively, before she nodded and looked back at him. "Oracle."

"Oracle?" Oliver blinked, "Like a seer?"

Felicity turned again to grin at him, "Exactly like," she indicated her computers. "And these are my crystal balls."

"Fitting," Diggle approved with a smile. "Try to be more specific than the ones at Delphi though, okay? Left or right, rather than either choice may lead to peril?"

Felicity laughed lightly, "I'll try to avoid drugs, and alcohol, too."

That sounded a little familiar, so it was probably a movie or pop culture reference he actually should know—from something before _The Gambit_ that just wasn't important enough to actually remember—but Oliver ignored the sidelines. "Please do," he told her as he headed for the cabinet with all of the ARGUS communication equipment that he'd carefully checked for bugs and identifying features before storing it here. He found the field-comms he'd put away earlier and another one, taking out all three while he rooted through it till he found the independent (non-ARGUS) voice-modulators that could hook up to them.

Felicity accepted all three with a sigh, studying each quickly. No more than the quick once-over that Digg had given them earlier, too, to make sure they knew how to use them. Since the former Special Forces Solider hadn't had an issue with them, it wasn't at all surprising that their tech expert didn't either.

"Set yours as deep as it'll go," Oliver told her.

Ordered, really.

Which Felicity recognized. And rolled her eyes again at. "So I'll sound like a man, you mean?" she shook her head, "Do you want me to fake an accent, too? I can do quite a few."

Oliver knew she was teasing him, and that she was telling the truth on the last bit. But he also knew that he was walking a line with her 'my life, my choice,' rhetoric; because she knew he was going out of his way to keep her here where she'd be safe.

She was allowing it, but resisting his increased protectiveness enough to warn him against pushing her too much more. Lest she decide to change costumes and follow them to the party if nothing else.

"That's up to you," Oliver replied lightly. "If you're going to, though, you should let us know ahead of time."

Felicity smiled, and that smile instantly melted a little bit of his worries away; like ice under sunshine. "I'll try not to confuse you guys too much," she reassured them, going on after they exchanged a glance. "And I'll stay here. This time. As long as neither of you end up needing me there."

"We won't—"

"Like if your mother or Tommy or Mister Merlyn decides to shoot you. And you don't duck again."

And now she was back to mostly teasing him, so Oliver rolled her eyes. "We'll let you know if we need any help on site, otherwise you'll stay here. Okay?"

Felicity nodded. "Okay," then she looked at the clock. "Since I don't need to get dolled up, I'll be surfing through _Merlyn Global_ 's servers till the party starts. Are you two going to be fashionably late?"

"Obviously," Oliver agreed, then he had to roll his own eyes. "And it won't take either of us two-and-a-half hours to get ready, Felicity."

"No," Felicity agreed, turning back to her computers. "Neither of you have that much hair and your makeup isn't all that precise, is it?"

Diggle snorted.

Oliver shook his head. "I'm going to finish my workout."

"Thank you."

He could hear Felicity's smile as he headed for the salmon ladder again, but it'd vanished—and her eyes were back on her computers—by the time he got there. Which didn't mean she wouldn't be watching, but that was at least half of what he liked about this exercise these days. He'd still do it either way, of course, but if he had to choose between the salmon ladder and something else, Felicity's presence generally made him favor the plyometric exercise she liked so much.

So Oliver was smiling as he did that first required chin up, before swinging down into the start of the repetitive motions one needed to negotiate in order to scale this particular ladder. He'd never actually figured out why it was called a 'salmon' ladder, since it didn't look that much like the waterways that men made to help fish overcome manmade dams and similar obstacles placed in their previously passable rivers.

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

It might have something to do with the fact that they jumped up the rapids with their whole body, something the exercise very much incorporated, but none of his brief curious perusals of the web had ever yielded a specific answer.

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

That idle curiosity was never quite as important as the fact that the ladder _did_ exercised almost every muscle in his body if utilized correctly. Which was why it was his preference even before the appreciation of the beautiful woman that'd joined his team had started making it even enjoyable.

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

It was barely a minute before he felt her eyes watching him, and their game of not making eye contact as she watched him and he watched her started again, the steady staccato of her commanding her computers by keystrokes never faltering.

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

John Diggle, meanwhile, went back to working out the bowling balls he had for arms on one of the dummies, pretending he wasn't watching the two of them with undisguised amusement that should probably irritate his teammates, but didn't.

 _Bam, bam! Bam-bam-bam! Bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

Maybe it should sound like chaos to him; too much noise in this dark basement he'd chosen as a hideout, but it didn't.

It sounded like teamwork.

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

 _Bam, bam! Bam-bam-bam! Bam!_

And not for the first time, Oliver realized he really didn't mind not being along anymore.

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

 _Bam, bam! Bam! Bam-bam-bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

Not when his team could still save a life.

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

 _Bam, bam! Bam! Bam-bam-bam!_

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

Granted, he probably wouldn't be able to climb this ladder long enough to black out the part of his brain that was still wondering what Felicity meant by 'the right red dress.' She was gorgeous no matter what she wore: the beautiful blues and glimmering gold he'd seen her in had offered a clear view of the opposite side of the spectrum from the Gothic look he'd never liked on anyone other than her. But he'd never seen her in red yet. Other than that red pen he couldn't forget, of course.

At least she hadn't said green. Heaven help him if she ever decided to wear more of his color than _The_ _Arrow_ in her ear. _That_ was hard enough.

 _Swing, kip up—THUD!_

 _Click, click, click-click. Click-click, click._

 _Bam, bam! Bam-bam-bam! Bam-Bam!_

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle's P.O.V._

Diggle didn't let his gaze stop on any of the other bodyguards, deliberately not looking for Moira Queen's driver as he walked over to her.

Not that he needed to worry. Rick Turner wasn't a bodyguard. He was just a chauffeur. A chauffer who'd been driving Missus Queen around even before her son and first husband were lost to the sea, but still just a chauffeur. He hadn't challenged Diggle the last time he'd wanted to take over for a day, he wouldn't say anything at a big party either. Still, there was a slight possibility that the man wouldn't meet his expectations, so he'd headed directly for the Queen matriarch herself. "Missus Queen?"

The woman that many considered the head of Starling's elite—a _queen_ in stature as well as in name—couldn't quite hide the concern that took over from her initial surprise at seeing him as soon as the sight registered. "Mister Diggle? Is Oliver all right?"

Diggle made his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "Yes ma'am, as far as I know. He said you wanted me here tonight?" He'd let his surprise fall halfway through into the slight disgruntlement she would recognize from months back. Early on: when her son had made him look bad at his job again, and again, and again, but he hadn't really wanted to quit till he'd figured out the mystery of the 'kind of man' Oliver Queen was.

He _had_ quit, almost automatically, when he thought the abyss of the recently recovered castaway's personality was homicidal madness, and Moira Queen had accepted it with the same graceful sigh that'd probably greeted every stunt her son had ever pulled. That Diggle had come back was what surprised her. But she'd warmed to him a bit as a result; both because he'd come back and because Oliver had stopped losing him. (Actually Diggle just stopped reporting when he wasn't shadowing the billionaire, but she couldn't know that.) So this was an act that had to be balanced carefully, but that didn't mean it wouldn't work.

As was demonstrated by the barely-there play of emotions that crossed the Queen matriarch's face at his words. "What? No, I..." Moira trailed off, then sighed tiredly. "I suppose I should be glad my son has switched to merely misdirecting you, Mister Diggle, rather than jumping out of cars and sneaking out the second-story bathroom window."

As planned, Diggle feigned the only-just noticeable discomfort she'd expect, "I'd wondered, ma'am. But he hadn't tried anything since his motorcycle accident."

That only made Moira Queen sigh again, but the sadness in her eyes didn't break through her careful public mask. "Yes, I think Walter's... disappearance may have made him understand my concerns better than his own kidnapping seemed to. Small mercies," she shook her head then, and indicated the other Queen employee, her driver, along the edge of the room. "Well, given the planning that must have gone into this, I won't make you try and figure out where Oliver has decided to hide his latest illicit rendezvous this time. Please—"

" _Illicit_ rendezvous?"

Diggle had been relieved to see Tommy Merlyn headed their way even before he interrupted the Queen matriarch.

"How'd I _not_ hear about _that?_ "

"Tommy," Moira smiled at him, though it looked a little forced: sad, maybe, that the Merlyn heir chose to be here and her own son hadn't? She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, then accepted the champagne glass he handed her.

"So I take it Ollie's _not_ here?" Tommy asked with a curious glance between his best friend's mother and bodyguard.

"I'm afraid Oliver has decided to lose Mister Diggle again this evening." Oliver's mother explained, then she considered her son's friend. "You wouldn't happen to know whom he insists on meeting without his bodyguard even driving him, would you, Tommy?"

' _Shit,_ ' Diggle didn't let the silent oath even touch his expression as he watched the Merlyn heir realize something, and remembered a key fact himself: Tommy Merlyn had met Felicity at his birthday dinner last night. And Moira Queen thought her son was sneaking around and slipping his bodyguard's leash for a girl.

It made him glad, at least, that he didn't have to check to make sure his comm wasn't actively transmitting. As the line was and wasn't secure—a paradox the vigilante refused to explain no matter how many times his teammates prodded him about it—they'd set a lot more parameters for the comms in place than just codenames. One of those parameters was that they wouldn't be actively broadcasting from their comms unless they _had_ to say something. Oliver, once whatever was going down started, was supposed to turn his comm on and leave it on as an additional means for Felicity to keep track of him even though she had the Merlyn Global security system under her fingertips. But Digg and Felicity could both control what they specifically said and what was transmitted from around him.

If someone else was picked up by the vigilante's comm it wouldn't help anyone who might record the communications figure anything out. John Diggle—bodyguard without a mask, talking to Moira Queen and Tommy Merlyn—was a lot more risky in that regard; so he'd have to turn his comm on and off as needed.

As would Felicity, but that was really just because Oliver was over-protective... and neither of them were sure of how effective even a voice-changer would be if she started babbling. Never mind whatever she might babble about.

"No, he hasn't said anything like that, mentioned a Russian model a while back, but nothing since," Tommy said carefully, taking a sip of his champagne before continuing. "Had a hot date last night, but she wasn't from the club circuit. Or Russian."

"Oh?" Moira was, as could only be expected, interested in that.

"Yeah, actually she works at Q.C," the Merlyn heir continued thoughtfully. "Sounded like they've been taking it slow, though, so I don't know how 'illicit' their dates are. I mean, don't get me wrong; she's a hottie," he aborted an all-encompassing wave to avoid dumping the still full flute of champagne in his hand. "But she spent more time playing hostess around all the elephants trampling the table last night than she did flirting. She did make Ollie laugh, though."

That last bit made the Queen matriarch pause right after she'd opened her mouth. Maybe something that'd happened a whole handful of times in her adult life. Maybe not.

But even with all the suspicion Digg still held towards her since Felicity gave them Moira's like-new copy of the same List that was the focus of Oliver's 'mission,' the bodyguard couldn't deny that the woman who'd first hired him to protect her son loved her children more than anything. So it was impossible not to sympathize with the uncertain hope in her eyes.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Tommy shook his head. "Till then, I hadn't realized I hadn't heard him laugh since before... well, I guess before he came back."

Diggle found himself appreciating the fact that his job as a bodyguard made him all but invisible in this room. Not necessarily to the Triad and anyone they'd hired; they would notice every potential threat and barrier here. But none of the rich people ever would. So he could stay silent and just watch Oliver's mother and best friend interact. Could learn a lot about the man he'd agreed to save Starling City with, even though neither of the two actually knew anything about the Oliver Queen that'd come home to them.

Except the one thing that anyone with eyes around Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak couldn't fail to notice. Something Digg should probably warn the pair about. It didn't matter if they thought they actually weren't dating or not.

Not, he thought. If the 'as friends' date to the best friend's birthday dinner was counted at as a date, then it _was_ only their first. If it wasn't, they technically hadn't dated at all yet. Or jumped each other, as far as Diggle knew, though there was no telling how long that'd last after a day like today.

Regardless of whatever those two thought they were though, Missus Queen could think that Felicity was the same girl Oliver had supposedly been hooking up with and that he'd failed to keep the promise she hadn't wanted from him to introduce her if they ever exchanged first names. That was probably the worst case, since the Acting-C.E.O of _Queen Consolidated_ could make their tech girl's life a lot harder if she decided to dislike her, and Diggle really didn't know where that basis would take the protective mother that might have something to do with some citywide conspiracy. Then again, Diggle didn't really know enough about Moira Queen to determine if that was even likely or not; and given how long he'd spent watching the woman in weeks prior that was surprising.

"I liked her," Tommy declared, getting an actual blink out of his best friend's mother even before he added; "Laurel did, too," he winced. "Which might sound weird, I guess, but we're all trying to put the past behind us, so—"

"I understand, Tommy," Moira interrupted him gently, raising her glass in a silent salute. "And that certainly isn't a bad idea, all things considered." She took of a small sip of her champagne, asking even as Tommy followed her lead. "What did you say her name was?"

Diggle didn't let himself wince, but he was really rather glad his comm wasn't broadcasting. Even imagining what the couple in question might be saying in response to this line of conversation was painful. Even if it might be amusing, too.

"Felicity," Tommy answered promptly, but the pause afterwards would've been noticeable even if he didn't wince. "Didn't catch her last name. Started with an 'S,' I think, but I wasn't really paying attention till I realized she wasn't..." his wince as he trailed off was even more pronounced.

And Diggle would've felt bad for him if he wasn't busy wondering what was bothering the Merlyn heir so much. Was it really just the decision to come as his father asked at his best friend's prompting, or something more than that?

Digg supposed it might be that the cut-off man was wondering if he was remembering the couple through rose-tinted glasses: if he thought he might be seeing the chemistry between the pair because he wanted it to be there. Wanted it to be another barrier on top of all the other ones in the way of Oliver ever trying to make-up with his ex-girlfriend. Tommy Merlyn's current girlfriend. As if cheating on Laurel Lance with her sister and said sister dying during said cheating wasn't enough of one.

Then again, Diggle had watched Oliver with Felicity very closely from the start, and sometimes even he wondered if he was actually seeing all the tacit romantic tensions he really thought he was.

"A model?" Moira offered delicately, as she took another sip of her champagne, which her bodyguard of the evening realized she seemed to be drinking a lot faster than every other time he'd observed her.

"Well, no," Tommy shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, she _could_ model, but..." he paused, then nodded. "She wasn't a flavor of the week, or anything like that. She was real... real, I guess?" He trailed off, then looked at John Diggle and blinked as if just remembering he was there. Which, he probably had. Technically no longer rich or not he'd grown up in this world without having to crash into any dose of reality till his father cut him off. "Wait, you must know her last name."

"It's Smoak," Diggle had to admit, because if Missus Queen really looked into it, it wouldn't be hard for her to figure out who her son had signed into Q.C to see more than once; or that his bodyguard had been with him a few of those times. "Felicity Smoak."

Tommy snapped his fingers, nodding, "That's it," he took another sip of champagne as Oliver's mother studied him. "Like I said, don't know how long they've been dating, but—"

"They aren't," Digg finally had to interrupt, if only to avoid some of the extra hits his employer would get in the next time they sparred if he didn't. Really, though, to avoid any misconception on Moira Queen's part affecting Felicity's already over-scheduled working life adversely.

"What?" Tommy blinked at him, both his and Missus Queen's attention returning to him immediately. "But they're—"

"Maybe the strongest examples of chemistry I've ever seen; but they aren't actually dating yet." Diggle shook his head. "He's visited her at work a few times, hired her to setup the security system at the club, but last night was the first time he'd asked her out; and they were going to your party as friends."

" _Friends?_ " Oliver's best friend snorted, complete incredulity ruling his features. "Ollie doesn't have, well, girl friends that are just friends." He shook his head. "And they're..."

"Uh-huh." Diggle nodded through his shrug, then looked at his employer's mother. (After he quit, Oliver hired him back, so technically she wasn't his boss anymore.) "Ma'am, I should check in with Turner."

"Of course," the blonde allowed, nodding towards the main entrance to the lobby. "I believe he's waiting by the door. Thank you, Mister Diggle."

That thanks was almost certainly more for the information he'd had to admit to knowing just now, but Digg didn't say anything about that as he stepped away, shaking his head at the mentioned driver instead of making his way over to him because he couldn't protect Oliver's mother from anything from halfway across the crowded room. 'Ricky' Turner had been who'd been watching Diggle worriedly since he'd noticed him talking to the Queen matriarch, but as the ex-soldier had expected the driver didn't actually want to cross the crowded room to question his presence, content to stay on the sidelines of the rich crowd with a worried frown. The crowd in question, however, dismissed his presence without a second thought when he was barely a few steps from the Queen matriarch.

Moira Queen, in fact, was looking back at the younger Merlyn before her bodyguard-of-the-night had taken that first step away. "You think Oliver is interested in this Miss... Smoak?"

"Well, yeah," Tommy sounded a little uncertain as he answered, but Digg couldn't read his expression from the position he'd taken up by one of the room's many artistically placed support columns—only a few feet away from the woman he probably wouldn't have to tackle tonight, just to be safe. "But I guess he was stuck on that island a long time."

"He was," Moira Queen's wince at the reminder was half-hidden by the sip she immediately took of champagne.

Diggle was now too far away to be sure if that sadness was pronounced in her eyes again, but he suspected it was. Especially since that wince had made it by her carefully cultured mask.

"I think he does really like her," Tommy told her, sounding like he really meant it. "But he... he's adjusting too, right?"

Oliver's mother paused at that, apparently surprised again. Then again, the drama that her son's life—and by extension her own—had become (and still was) over the last half decade wasn't the normal chit-chat at fancy parties. "Yes. I suppose he is."

"And Ollie taking it slow wouldn't be a bad thing," Tommy opined thoughtfully. "New, definitely, but not bad."

Missus Queen chuckled, "Perhaps," she allowed, then took another sip of champagne.

"Tommy? Moira?" Malcolm Merlyn's voice had both of them stiffening, though it was more noticeable in the man's son than the regal woman who turned towards him.

The guest of honor—and target of assassination—looked pleased to see both of them. Not at all surprising given the invitation Tommy had physically dropped the invitation to this event at his father's feet, and hadn't been happy, according to Oliver, when it'd been returned to him by the maître'd when they were informed his birthday dinner had already been paid for by his father. The very incident that'd led to Oliver using him as a cover at the restaurant that fronted as a legitimate business at one of the Triad's base of operations. Also leading to Oliver talking his best friend into giving his estranged dad a chance and being here tonight, now to the vigilante's chagrin all things considered. But maybe still a chance for the two Merlyn men to reconnect if everything worked out tonight.

What did surprise John Diggle was the glance that the elder Merlyn sent _his_ way too. Just for a moment, a barely there, evaluating pause when the billionaire's eyes flicked over to him. But it was long enough for him to notice that unlike his son and almost all the other rich people who normally ignored his existence—his suit and stern stature marking him as a bodyguard: a servant they only deigned to notice when something went wrong—Malcolm Merlyn was much more vigilant. That observation left Diggle wondering if the Triad maybe hadn't just decided that more than the man's personal security detail made him a difficult target, but he shoved that thought to the back of his mind. He was here tonight to protect Missus Queen, not debate which of the woman's longtime friends might have something to do with the List that'd led to Oliver's crusade and Walter Steele's disappearance, and maybe murder.

"You look beautiful," Merlyn told Moira with a smile that turned towards his son after she nodded her thanks. "Tommy, I'm glad you could make it," the words were sincere, almost enough to hide his surprise. "If you're both free, maybe we could all have dinner, and talk like we used to?"

The question seemed more for Moira Queen, maybe to try and tie his son to her answer without having to ask him.

"I'd like that," Moira answered evenly, her mask back in place as both looked to Tommy for the expected nod, which he gave them.

Then Malcolm raised an eyebrow, "Is Oliver here?" he asked, glancing around but not really scanning the sea of faces that consisted of most of Starling City's one-percenters.

"No," Tommy answered after he'd swallowed a gulp of his wine. "I think he's looking into something for the club, actually. He didn't really say though."

Oliver's mother sighed yet again, "I'm not sure if that reassures me or not."

Deliberate feedback over the sound-system made every bodyguard and security guard there pause, but of the rich people they were protecting Merlyn might've been the only one who paid any attention to it. "That's my cue," he nodded to Moira, then to his son with a happy looking smile that Digg never would've pictured on his face after the times he'd seen the man previously, before he headed for the podium just as the presenter stepped up to it.

" _That's your cue, too, Oracle,_ " Oliver reminded her over the comm.

" _Already called Lance's Arrow-Phone and played your message,_ " Felicity replied almost over him. " _He hung up on me. But S.C.P.D's in route. E.T.A... maybe seven minutes?_ "

Diggle didn't let himself react to the strange sound of her voice. He'd heard the Hood—or Arrow—Voice before, so the mechanically disguised tone's menace was mostly lost in familiarity. Felicity's disguised voice, however, made her sound like James Earl Jones. If she added the heavy breathing, a part of him would want to look around for Darth Vader. Knowing her, it was probably deliberate. So the slightly babbled response that lent that wrong-voice familiarity was as much a comfort as the semi-planned response was.

He still had to bite back a smirk when he heard the Hood sigh. Which also sounded strange thanks to his voice modulator—a lot like the Darth Vader breathing, actually, though doubtlessly not at deliberate on the Vigilante's part.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman," the man that'd been waiting by the stage stepped up to the podium as soon as the guest of honor had found his place nearby.

Diggle recognized him then, though he didn't know his name. But he knew he was S.C.P.D; Detective Lance's superior.

The former soldier turned vigilante-support wasn't sure he liked what it said about Starling City that something like this, to supposedly honor a great person for doing good in the city, didn't merit the direct attention of the Mayor, even with most of the city's wealthy elite in attendance. He didn't like that it was obvious in the barely hidden lack of recognition on at least half of the faces in this room; they didn't know who this man was and they didn't care. The only reason they were really here was because Malcolm Merlyn was receiving the reward and hosting the event. Any award should mean more than the man receiving it, should mean something all on its own that signified the great honor of earning it, but in Starling that didn't seem possible.

"Now tonight's honoree needs very little introduction," the S.C.P.D brass went on as soon as the room was mostly quiet. "It's neither his wealth nor his name that we celebrate here tonight. But it is his efforts in making Starling City a better, and safer place to live. So please help me welcome Starling City's humanitarian of the year; Mister Malcolm Merlyn."

The pretty words were received with polite applause as the man himself climbed the short steps to the podium with a waive, before accepting the police lieutenant's handshake and then the glass trophy that he may or may not have a maid dust regularly after today.

"Thank you," Merlyn said as he turned to the still politely applauding audience, which hushed as soon as he smiled at them. "The true humanitarian in the Merlyn family was my wife, Rebecca. Many of you here knew her. She tirelessly devoted herself to helping those less fortunate in The Glades." He paused, his smile fading while he soldiered on. "I'd like to think that if the men who murdered her knew her; knew the work that she did, knew the person that she was..." the businessman swallowed, his wife's death from decades before still obviously painful. "He would have helped her to her car, made sure she was safe... instead of stealing her purse and shooting her."

Not that John Diggle couldn't understand that. Andy's death, his absence, would probably always haunt him, even with the closure of knowing his murderer was dead thanks to Oliver. Digg couldn't imagine how much worse it would be if it wasn't his brother, but a woman he loved. Lyla or Carly. If he lost them to some worthless mugger that the cops never caught, Digg didn't know if he'd be able to go on like Malcolm Merlyn had. It didn't excuse the way the man had all but abandoned his son after the boy's mother's death, but it did explain it a little bit.

"The truth is, I haven't done enough for this city. _**My**_ _city._ I failed it." Merlyn declared firmly, conviction and certainty in each word. "I failed it," he nodded, before going on with the no longer bored partygoers hanging on each word.

Just like John Diggle was. Although he wasn't distracted enough to not noticed the police lieutenant pulling his—likely silenced but vibrating—cell from his pocket with a frown. Nor did he miss the way the lieutenant's gaze immediately cut to the man he'd just introduced a minute ago, all his earlier smiles gone.

"But I promise you—I am **not** finished yet. I promise you that this city **will** be better for all of us. And on that day, I will look at this beautiful award and feel that I have **earned** it," he nodded to them as he held the glass trophy up one more time. "I thank you."

As he watched the man turn from the podium to more enthusiastic applause, Diggle couldn't help but be impressed. He knew that was the point, of course, everyone here did. Still, with the award the words were accepting, paired with the conviction in the C.E.O's voice, the speech still meant something.

Even in Starling City.

Especially in Starling City.

Diggle could be a little appreciative that the Triad seemed to have realize that too. That they let Malcolm Merlyn say every word, let the audience all applaud and let Tommy Merlyn raise his champagne with a proud smile for perhaps the only time in his living memory. At least they were that patient: so maybe they were even a little human.

But Merlyn had only just set one foot off the stage—Lance's lieutenant headed right for him—when they triggered the fire alarm to start the mass exodus.

Diggle made it to the first target before the Triad enforcer disguised as a caterer could, knocking the knife from his hand and shoving him towards his buddy just barely in time to stop the second murder.

 _BANG! BANG!_

 _BANG! BANG!_

Both Triad attackers dropped to the ground, dead, at least a bullet in each of them as some of the now frightened rich people started screaming and their rush for the exits became more frenzied.

"Thanks," the first fellow bodyguard said even as he charged towards his client, the handgun he'd just used to kill the two attackers still in the hand that wasn't reaching for the billionaire as his partner flanked him. "Mister Merlyn! Mister Merlyn we should head for the exit!" he tried to turn his boss towards the stairs, but Merlyn dodged the directing hands and ignored the directions.

"Not without Tommy!" the billionaire snapped back as he darted around the S.C.P.D lieutenant and started across the floor, cutting through the nicely dressed horde with an intent that reminded Diggle more of warrior than a speechwriter. "Tommy!"

However, Malcolm Merlyn wasn't Diggle's problem now, he had his own bodyguards and a ranking member of the S.C.P.D chasing after him and The Arrow waiting to step in if necessary. So Digg was hurrying towards his own assignment. The same woman he'd been suspicious of for weeks now, but it was his job to keep her safe now. That wouldn't be the case if Tommy Merlyn was still standing next to Moira Queen, but it seemed Digg had been distracted enough by the speech to miss their separating.

"Missus Queen," Digg got to her just as a Chinese man in too nice a tuxedo to not belong in this crowd started leading her towards an exit. That suit was tailored and pressed; not a disguise for the night or something the Triad would expend on anyone.

"Mister Diggle," Moira Queen looked surprised to see him again. Maybe she was going into shock? "What's happening?"

"This way, ma'am," Diggle ignored the question as he started shepherding the two of them towards the nearest exit. "Get the car!" he snapped at Turner when he saw the man trying to make his way against the crowd to them instead of heading for the doors.

The well-dressed Chinese man that was now with them was somewhat familiar. Probably someone he'd seen talking to the Queen matriarch before. But that didn't keep the ex-soldier from keeping a sharp eye on him. The older man didn't drop his shielding stance around Moira until they were outside, and even then he was looking around warily.

Diggle would like to think that it wasn't the man's heritage that made him suspicious to start with, but he'd never been that good at lying to himself either. No matter what political correctness said about racial profiling, about any profiling, it did have its place. And when the threat was the Chinese Mafia, a wealthy Chinese man merited a second glance just as much as all the Chinese caterers had. The wary expectation in the looks he kept sending around didn't do anything to discourage further suspicion, even though his even more obvious protectiveness of Moira Queen indicated he wasn't a threat to her.

The woman John Diggle was already openly suspicious of while her son refused to be even after she'd _shot_ him. The same woman that seemed to be waiting for something only a little less obviously than her friend.

" _I've found the Triad's frequency,_ " Felicity's voice disguised as Darth Vader breathed in his ear all of a sudden, almost making him jump. She continued too quickly and her words were all too fast to really be mistaken for the most infamous Sith Lord, but the cover was still even more effective than her masquerade that afternoon had been.

He certainly wouldn't recognize the mechanical notes of the voice as hers if he didn't already know what the Hood's disguised—and _almost_ Darth dramatic—voice sounded like.

" _They just decided to improvise, because Mister Merlyn didn't go outside. One of them said he had to 'switch vantage points' while the others chase him up to the penthouse. The executive floor,_ " she clarified unnecessarily as she finished.

That'd definitely be a sniper then, Digg decided but didn't say. It was obvious.

Unless the Dark Archer had some kind of arrow for bulletproof glass. It'd be hard enough for a good sniper: impossible if he wasn't prepared.

Then again, some of the 'trick arrows' Digg had seen Oliver drawing up were scary even before Felicity started theorizing with him about how to actually make them.

" _Acknowledged,_ " the Hood answered abruptly. " _Where are they?_ "

That wasn't particularly reassuring since he'd thought the vigilante was already in place earlier, but the best laid plans and all that...

" _Mister Merlyn's bodyguards and Lieutenant Pike are trying to take him out through the garage. The Triad has two goons waiting, but more are on their way and..._ " she trailed off just as Diggle noticed movement overhead.

He might've asked her about the description 'goons' if he wasn't still shadowing Oliver's suspicious mother. Instead he waited for her to continue, doubting that their Vigilante taking up inner city zip-lining once again was what'd phased her.

A moment later there was a long, mechanically garbled breath and then: " _One of the bodyguards was shot. There's already ambulances on the way, but_ —"

" _How many Triad are there now?_ " the Arrow redirected her.

" _Still two; one's down, but another one showed up. Three more are head that way from inside the building_ — _one woman. Both Merlyns and Pike are pinned down with only one bodyguard. I don't know how many bullets he has left though; he just took his friend's gun. Pike pulled his backup a minute ago. The two Triad have machine guns._ "

So Merlyn had made it to his son. Damn. Tommy probably would've been safer if he hadn't, even with the lieutenant there, but there was no way the billionaire could've known that. Especially if the woman with knives was Chen Na Wei; that one time that Diggle had tried to take her on he would've died if not for Oliver's unexpected intervention.

" _Almost there,_ " the Arrow reported, while Diggle watched his shadow crossing over the roof of the skyway between _Merlyn Global_ and it's parking garage.

" _Dammit! The bodyguard's down and Pike, too._ "

The Arrow's shadow was swinging out of sight as she reported that, and then there was the sound of breaking glass immediately followed by hails of gunfire. All of it unaltered sound because Oliver's comm wasn't set to change anything as he already had the voice modulator active.

" _Go somewhere safe, I'll hold them off!_ " the Arrow was ordering a moment later, machine gunfire still sounding in the background.

" _Four more Triad about a minute away,_ " Felicity's Darth Vadered voice reported.

" _Go now!_ " the Arrow's shouted, mechanical growl at the Merlyn's was his acknowledgement of her prompt.

" _Ga-Go!_ " the police lieutenant's un-mechanical, choked echo of the command was a little fainter than the command from Merlyn that immediately followed.

" _Come on!_ " Merlyn said, probably to his son, voice also unaltered.

It took every piece of control John Diggle had not to react as he heard the close-quarters fight start seconds later. The former soldier didn't like staying on the sidewalk with Moira Queen, waiting for Turner to bring her car around as she silently watched the building, just like her Chinese friend, while all the guests fretted and the police cars screeched to a halt all over the place, their blaring sirens almost hiding the sounds of the fight he could only listen to.

Although watching through _Merlyn Global_ 's live security footage probably wouldn't make him feel much better; he didn't doubt that it wasn't reassuring Felicity all that much, but she was maintaining radio silence as instructed—probably by muting her comm, but whatever worked.

The fight was over quickly: barely six seconds later, the additional 'goons' Felicity had mentioned clearly no match for the vigilante.

Felicity spoke right away, the Darth Vader alteration not hiding her alarm. " _Arrow, the Merlyns' are headed to the penthouse—right where the Triad wants them. I can't stop the executive elevator!_ "

" _Acknowledged, Oracle,_ " was Oliver's terse reply, before he ordered. " _Not help him._ "

Him? Him who? Obviously someone Felicity should be able to see on the hacked security feed, but before she could say anything else the vigilante was talking again, his mechanically modulated works obviously directed at someone else. " _Why do you want Malcolm Merlyn dead?_ "

And the female voice that answered, just loud enough from afar for the device in the archer's ear to transmit it, wasn't altered by anything other than anger. " _I'll settle for_ _ **you**_ _._ "

The woman could only be the Triad leader: China White. Not the very head of the organization, but high enough up there to be in charge of this assassination. The professional criminal and hit-woman in her own right that'd almost killed Diggle months ago. Whom Oliver had saved him from with a thrown kitchen knife, but who was also a lot more able to keep the vigilante preoccupied longer than the flunkies he'd taken out like they were nothing.

A threat to the vigilante—the Arrow—himself, as the Merlyn men were running right towards a trap.

" _Lieutenant Pike,_ " Felicity's disguised voice broke in even as the sounds of fighting commended again.

" _Who-Who is this?_ " the police lieutenant's demanded was too breathless to really be called that, but then again Felicity had reported that, like Merlyn's bodyguards, he had been shot.

" _Call me Oracle,_ " Felicity replied, as no-nonsense as any operations coordinator John Diggle had ever worked with as she went on to direct the S.C.P.D brass through first aid via comm-link and, apparently, a first aid kit their vigilante happened to be carrying around.

Then again, after two near-deaths under the hood, _that_ probably wasn't a bad idea. Even if giving it away to police officers might be, logically if not morally.

Diggle looked towards the curb that was crowded with police cars, really hoping to see the Queen car coming up. But there were too many cars with flashing lights for that to even be possible. So no chance of putting Missus Queen in the car and trying to rush into the building among that several police officers that'd already charged in or hiding among the army of blue that was following.

From the sound of it, help might make it to the S.C.P.D lieutenant in time. He was still talking. Still following Felicity's careful instructions.

But help for the lieutenant might mean arrest for the vigilante.

Never mind the fact that both Merlyn men might well be dead already, or very soon could be.

Damn it!

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V_.

" _I'll settle for_ _ **you**_ _._ "

' _Really?_ ' Felicity thought, but didn't say it aloud. Though that was almost bad enough to merit turning the comm on just to say it with as much sarcasm as she could express through Darth Vader's notorious tones. She couldn't, not with her comm on and more than just Oliver and Digg listening in now. Not with the police lieutenant clinging stubbornly to life on the other side of Oliver's spare comm.

Incredulity and sarcasm, however, had to take a back seat to saving a man's life. And watching the fight unfolding in the hallway immediately thereafter preoccupied most of her thoughts then. Most of her thoughts, not all.

"You need to keep pressure on that wound, lieutenant," she chided automatically, even though she couldn't really see enough in the security feeds to see if he was or wasn't doing that. That wasn't the point; the point was to keep him focused on it as long as possible. "And keep talking to me."

"Can't believe I'm getting first-aid prompts from Darth Vader," Pike's mumbled response was barely loud enough for her to hear over the sounds of struggle from Oliver's comm, but she still heard it.

"Would it help if I promise I'm not your father or trying to bring you to the Dark Side?" Felicity replied automatically, though she was really more preoccupied with watching and thinking.

She never really stopped doing that—thinking. And it'd saved her life more than once. Embarrassed her many more times, too, given her brain-to-mouth filter seemed to go on holiday at the very worst of times, but still...

" _Debatable. Seeing who,_ " Pike said, the words ragged around pained and ominously wet-sounding gasps. " _You're working with._ "

"Well, your own people should be there soon," Felicity told him; though it was as much a further warning for Oliver as it was reassurance for him.

The only upside being that his presence, wounded on the scene, should slow down at least the first few cops to get there. Hopefully enough for Oliver to get away. Maybe they'd even get lucky and some cop would get a lucky shot on the Triad hit-woman.

Because Zhishan's student being almost as dramatic as Oliver wasn't really relevant next to whether or not the white-haired woman was Immortal. Having never met the Chinese criminal with colorless hair, Felicity couldn't know for certain.

The Watchers didn't know. Chien Na Wei had remained a note in her teacher's file and a name on the long 'maybe' list for years now. But their database was only one of the tools Felicity used to keep track of such things.

After all, the Watchers not having anything on a ranking member of the Chinese Mafia wasn't too surprising. The only reason they even knew that Zhishan was Immortal was because some fool challenged him a few years ago and promptly lost his head. Not surprisingly, the Watchers had wisely decided against trying too hard to follow an organized crime leader around. So all they had chronicled for him were what they could dig up from various law enforcement sources, which they extrapolated out from in an attempt to determine from a safe distance who—if any—of Zhishan's Triad associates might also be Immortal.

" _Good...to hear,_ " Pike groaned.

"Pressure, lieutenant," Felicity said again. Because the longer he managed that, the less likely he'd die of blood loss tonight. Though she'd really have to look into upgrading that field first aid kit if the vigilante was going to be carrying it around. Whether it was just for tiding him over until Digg got there or he got away or not.

The Watchers weren't the only ones watching these days. Felicity knew that the League had been keeping an eye on the Immortal inside the Chinese Mafia even before he hit the Watchers' database as a known Immortal too dangerous to assign to any Field-Watcher. She had passed the tip onto them when that particular notation raised one of the red flags she'd secretly embedded in the database Methos had helped construct over a decade ago. Well; Methos knew it was there, he'd asked her to write the code for it and made sure it was incorporated and not discovered, but it surprised her a little that the Watchers still hadn't noticed _decades_ later.

The League of Assassins, however, had already been aware of Zhishan. Enforcing the so-called 'rules' of The Game wasn't ever at the very top of Ra's al Ghul's priorities, but it _was_ always up there. Top then at least. Well after the safeguarding of the League itself, and all whom it's Head declared protected. Right under maintaining the secrecy that almost all Immortals agreed was essential to their continued livelihoods on the edges of society.

For those that'd lived through the Dark Ages, and any of the many witch hunts and the like that'd come before, that need for secrecy wasn't something that could be questioned. But every now and then some poor fool came back from their First Death with utter ignorance to those concerns; having the good fortune to grow up in the a time that wasn't so tumultuous, they _didn't_ _understand_. Some could be reasoned with, sorted out by some do-gooder that came across them or was directed towards them; others lost their heads to an assassin under the command of Ra's al Ghul.

It was not the only thing that the League would assassinate people, even Immortals for, it was true. And some of the worst Immortal monsters out there even they avoided unless a particular opportunity presented itself. It was an aspect of her student's honor code that Felicity couldn't personally understand, but Methos had told her to leave it be, so it was another difference of opinion they'd all agreed to disagree on.

In fact more than once, her former student had asked her to leave an area to avoid a confrontation the League was not prepared for—not often, but it was the main reason she hadn't ever encountered Kronos before he was finally beheaded. Likely because her own teacher had specifically requested eyes on him, and on her, no matter what he said about being surprised to encounter him again. Or about never having had the nerve to check the dry well he'd left Kronos in.

Methos may not have had the League of Assassins to call upon before its creation only a handful of centuries prior, but he'd commanded warriors many times before that. Sometimes soldiers, sometimes whole pieces to the puzzles of empires. At almost any time he could've hired mere mercenaries to look into it for him. Their returning with news of an empty dry well, or too many not returning at all would've told her master-strategist teacher all he'd needed, no matter how much he hadn't wanted, to know.

Considering all of that though, the League had to pay pointed attention to Immortals who became deeply involved in the criminal underworld. Occasionally stepping on them directly, or sometimes making sure they ran into a random headhunter or one of the real good guys. But Zhishan had always been cautious enough to avoid the necessity of any direct action against the Triad, and especially himself.

That was why Felicity had been so surprised to hear he'd let Helena Bertinelli kill him. Especially since she wasn't dead, though that wasn't for lack of trying on the Triad's part according to the police reports on _that_ night. It was exactly the sort of rumor that could bring the League calling for his head.

Regardless, the woman she was watching fight hadn't been around long enough to be sure either way. Chien Na Wei really was somewhere in her forties. Felicity would've guessed younger at a glance; but there were Interpol records on her going back over twenty years and none of them indicated she was a child at the time. Considering only that, she might very well be an Immortal who hadn't aged since her First Death; but maybe not. After all, some mortals did actually age that well.

Her knife-fighting skills weren't a determinate either. She was good, however with an Immortal teacher for at least the last few decades, she should be. Immortal herself or not. To Felicity it was obvious that the woman was taught by a man and never really taken the time to train with other women—several of the few flaws that Felicity could spot while watching 'China White' and the Arrow's fight in the too-small view offered by the _Merlyn Global_ security cameras were all the sort of things Felicity had never really corrected in her own technique till her time with the Amazons.

"Arrow," Felicity interjected with a wince as she watched him wrestle with the Triad leader. "S.C.P.D are on the stairs now." Luckily there were only a few going up so far, the rest were securing the first floor; and probably waiting for SWAT team to show up. But a few braver souls were already headed for the second floor, where the fight was still going.

A teacher as long-lived and skilled as Methos had been able to spot several of those same sort of flaws in her technique and correct them early on, and she'd corrected some herself, but there were some things a man just couldn't teach a woman and vice versa. Their bodies were just built differently, and when it came to fighting those differences were at times vital. It wasn't the only reason there weren't too many female Immortals around, but it was one of them.

Granted, Chien Na Wei's clearest problem in this fight was her lack of preparation. Despite his earlier interference in this very assassination, she clearly hadn't come prepared to fight the vigilante in _Merlyn Global_ tonight. Properly prepared, she would have more substantial weapons than the karambit knives she'd likely had hidden in her purse at the party. A larger weapon might be more difficult to conceal, of course, but hardly impossible. After all, even if she couldn't comprehend hiding a sword by strapping it under her dress, two of her men had stormed the building from the parking garage armed with machine guns.

For Felicity, though, it was an unsurprising relief to see that while Chien Na Wei was skilled enough to stand up to the Arrow a lot longer than her henchmen, Oliver's improvisational use of his bow, armor (all leather but still better than a dress), greater size and strength left the Chinese mobster that might or might not be an Immortal at a distinct disadvantage.

It may also mean that the League was right and the Immortal Triad Leader they may or may not have to assassinate sooner or later wasn't actually that old himself. They hadn't told her any real specifics while thanking her for the head's up. They never did, unless she actually asked. But the title they'd applied to the man had indicated that they thought he wasn't a great threat, or particularly old. So he was at least younger than their leader, but Mazin had only made it halfway through a millennium just under a century ago, so he could still be older than a lot of the headhunters that prowled the planet till they ran into someone deadlier than them.

All of these were thoughts in the back of her mind, though, as she stared at her monitor. The four-inch figures fighting there were much more important.

Another more important pondering than Immortal worldviews was the dubious origin of Oliver's comm system. The system he insisted on using even though it was somehow both secure _and_ _not_. Because an explanation of that that sort of thing wasn't at all the sort of thing you'd want your tech support person to know, was it?

Not important right now, Felicity reminded herself, focusing in on what really was. The fighting figures that were blurs of white and the gray-shade that black-and-white cameras rendered Oliver's dark green clothing.

That was important.

As was the man third man on the floor, that barely seemed to be moving now.

"Lieutenant?" she asked worriedly, then automatically breathed a sigh of relief when he shifted just enough for her to know he was still awake and putting pressure on his gunshot wound as ordered.

" _Yeah, Vader,_ " Pike answered. " _I'm still here._ "

Felicity rolled her eyes, "It's Oracle, lieutenant."

" _Whatever, Vader,_ " He snorted, then asked after a gasp, " _Where are my people?_ "

Felicity glanced at the officers that were really taking more time than she'd expected, even the braver ones; seeing as one of their own was bleeding out on the second floor. "Still on the stairs," she told him, taking a moment to study the S.C.P.D figures nearest to the fight and the fallen. "Looks like they're starting to move up again—well, one of them is anyway."

She really should be listening to the police frequencies, too. But she didn't have the time to switch between them to figure out what was going on from their end. And there was still the chance the Triad might keep communicating on their channel. Obviously they needed at least more speakers for situations like this.

" _Your boy should get movin' then,_ " Pike advised.

And the good advice was so unexpected, given the source, that Felicity almost missed the Triad members that'd gone rogue. That is, if Oliver was right on the Triad not actually wanting all the heat for taking out someone of Merlyn's status and thus hiring not one but two professionals. She bit her tongue to make sure nothing slipped out; because the wrong words at the wrong moment against his current opponent could get Oliver killed. Not that it was easy, when she was watching Oliver's best friend stare down the barrels of two handguns held by hit men.

But the two thugs that were blocking the way to the C.E.O's office weren't saying anything on their radios, even though they hadn't pulled their triggers yet. Why? Felicity had only an instant to wonder, because then they couldn't. Because—and Felicity was both biting into her tongue and flat-out blinking in disbelief as she watched— _ **Malcolm Merlyn**_ _killed them_.

In all of eight seconds he'd dealt with the dangerous duo. One went headfirst down the stairs after a hard hit to the trachea that'd probably closed his windpipe and would therefore kill him even if the fall down the stairs didn't do the job. Then he shot the one he'd taken the gun from in the head with the stolen weapon, while his son watched in wide-eyed horror.

The elder Merlyn didn't even pause afterwards. Didn't glance back at the bodies, just gestured that his son should follow him. Speed-walking briskly but not at all panicked in the same direction they'd been headed before they ran into the two Chinese men. To all appearances he was in complete control as he reached the security panel outside his office doors, hitting in the code that would allow them to enter but trigger a total lockdown immediately thereafter, only pausing once he was inside to hold the door open for his still staggered son.

Once Tommy had followed his father into the most secure room in the skyscraper Felicity couldn't see them. There were no cameras behind those doors. Clearly because Malcolm Merlyn had more than a few reasons to like his privacy.

Felicity's eyes flew back to the fight on the second floor just in time to see the grappling figures smash a display case in the wall inside the building from the walkway.

More specifically: the Arrow threw China White into it. Then he threw China White at the other side of the hallway by brute strength alone.

To her credit, the Chinese woman landed with ease that bespoke of plentiful practice, hesitating only a moment—maybe because she was no longer armed with any weapon but her own body—before flying at the vigilante yet again. Clearly not caring that her prior attempt at wrestling with the man (who was significantly stronger and bigger than her) hadn't ended well for her dress. Or her.

Again the pair grappled for only a moment, now barely feet from where the S.C.P.D lieutenant. Who was still trying to stave the flow of blood from his gunshot wound with his hands and the pressure-dressing that made up most of the Arrow's little first aid kit, sagging against the wall as the pair fought steps away. Then the white-haired woman made the mistake of kicking Oliver away from her: right for the bow he'd dropped at some point, and far enough away for him to draw and aim an arrow at her.

It was over. If Chien Na Wei wasn't Immortal that arrow would permanently end her tonight, and if she was... well, she'd be out of the way for now, and if she stayed in Starling after being publically killed on camera it'd be a death knell for her.

And Oliver already knew he had to go, that the police were on their way and would take care of Pike.

So Felicity looked away, studying the other security screens—but mostly the empty hallways of the executive floor—as she thought.

The billionaire couldn't have learned to do that in your basic self-defense class, or even from a personal trainer. Some of the moves, maybe. But the quick, coldblooded efficiency was something that came with learning how to kill. Which could be necessary—and therefore legal—as far as self-defense went, but wasn't the modern norm for training at all.

That cold _control_ though...

Felicity had learned how to fight, not just defend herself a very long time ago. She'd had millennia—and far too many duels—of practice on top of the battles she'd actually chosen to fight. Still, she didn't think she'd ever been so completely cold about it.

 _That_ reminded her of the deadliest of her students. The man who'd called her 'little sister' for centuries, despite knowing she was thousands of years his senior. The man who'd asked her to teach him when Methos, Death, would not. Who'd never really asked Methos for further training after his years under her tutelage, because Death's best student, the only other Immortal in the world he called family, wasn't a half bad teacher herself and Mazin—who'd later renamed himself Ra's al Ghul—had recognized that.

But that was quite a conclusion to leap to, if it weren't already in her head she probably wouldn't have, so Felicity shook it off as she went to turn her comm on, deciding contemplations of Malcolm Merlyn's lethal skills could wait for after they were sure he'd survive the night.

" _Freeze! S.C.P.D!_ " a woman's voice—not Chien Na Wei's—ordered in that hallway right as Felicity looked back at the second floor feeds, so she bit her tongue to avoid swearing when she realized, in her distraction over what was happening on the top floor (and not wanting to watch an outright execution again), she hadn't paid close enough attention to where the police were when they, as expected, continued to not obey the Vigilante's command that they form a perimeter and not interfere to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Slightly ironically though, the detective that had her gun pointed at Oliver's hooded and leather-clad form was the same one Felicity had tried to nudge him towards only a little over a week ago. Former party-girl—and probably one of Oliver's many one-night-stands—McKenna Hall. Who'd barged into the building and located the fight scene, but a fair about of guts considering none of her backup had followed her up the stairs yet. Though not waiting for backup wasn't the wisest thing for any one cop to do.

Of course, why none of the other S.C.P.D officers had noticed where the vigilante had zip-lined down to and broken into the building from across the street was neither here nor there.

" _Put the bow down,_ " the detective was ordering. Although Hall didn't look like it was something she actually expected the vigilante to do, but she was clearly too good a person to just start shooting at him. Something that didn't necessarily hold true for all of the men and women of the Starling City Police Department as she inched closer to stand protectively over her fallen but still watching lieutenant. " _Turn around slowly._ "

Then an alert was flaring through the _Merlyn Global Group_ security system, to their neutralized security office and onto the S.C.P.D. And Felicity, thanks to her RAT. The executive floor's secure perimeter had been breached.

"Damn it," Felicity swore, before wincing as she remembered the radio in her ear was still transmitting. "Arrow, the Merlyn's made it to the penthouse office—um, alright—but the perimeter's already been breached."

Was it really too much to hope that the two men who knew there were people gunning from them would stay away from the windows? Bulletproof or not?

Apparently it was; a sniper wouldn't have taken a shot he wasn't sure of... though Felicity supposed she _could_ hope the Triad actually hadn't hired a sniper and some more of their hit men were finding out Malcolm Merlyn was a lot more dangerous than they'd ever expect, but that didn't seem too likely. Someone who wasn't a sniper wouldn't have reported switching vantage points earlier. A hit squad without a sniper wouldn't want him to go to the penthouse: they would've ambushed him in the garage rather than blocking that exit. Or caught him in route to what was likely the most secure place in the entire tower.

On the screen, the Arrow immediately turned and let the arrow he'd had aimed at Chien Na Wei loose on at the wall near the detective and her boss, hitting and breaking a fire extinguisher. The broken nozzle immediately spewed fire smothering agents into the air. Effectively obscuring the detective's view, and Felicity's—though she did see the white-haired woman dart back into _Merlyn Global_ while the Arrow headed out of the skywalk the same way he'd come in: the broken window, a gunshot sounding after him when the detective waited too long to pick her target and fire.

He really did seem to like breaking those windows, didn't he?

" _I'm on my way up,_ " Oliver's disguised voice told her only a moment later, and Felicity immediately shuddered, frown over the excess of broken glass forgotten. " _Oracle, initiate spare comm trigger. Lieutenant, you'll want to throw that comm away now._ "

Felicity obeyed, finding the 'trigger' prompt on his system in just a few keystrokes, but waiting to set it off until she saw the lieutenant obey a moment later. Focusing on watching the spare comm explode rather than exactly what her vigilante was doing. (And their 'sort-of secure comms' could _explode_. Lovely.)

Felicity hated fire more than she disliked heights, but both made the list of her top five least favorite ways to die. Drowning did, too, but that was rooted in the same traumatic source as her acrophobia. Namely how her teacher had decided to both prove to her she'd keep coming back from the dead and supposedly improve her situational awareness.

It'd never really helped in those early years that her first husband had always sent the other Immortal through the same falls. Firstly because she'd never been vindictive enough to want that kind of justice. And because she knew just as well as the warrior she'd married to protect her city did that while Carthage's

Champion was a great warrior, the man that world had called Death _was_ his superior. And the only way Eligius could kill Methos that many times was because he allowed it each and every time. Thousands of years ago those lessons had mostly made her just avoid the seaside cliffs Carthage's palaces was built atop. Eventually—and she didn't dare guess at how many deaths it took, but—the real point of the lesson had started to take hold. She'd started paying attention to everything rather than just avoiding cliffs, balconies and windows whenever Methos was nearby.

Nonetheless, dying was never pleasant, so she didn't like heights. Her fear of drowning had been corrected by learning how to swim, but as far as she knew no Immortal could fly, so fearing heights couldn't entirely be cured for her anymore than fearing fire. No phobia ever completely controlled her, of course, that'd be a weakness that most of mentors—not just Methos—never would've allowed. Her healthy respects of the perils, however, wasn't something her semi-paranoid elder could balk at.

Still, the thought of the archer shooting an arrow at the top of the skyscraper—if it went that far... maybe he needed to use more than one?—then letting it jerk him up over twenty-five floors was more than a little unsettling for her. Especially since he probably didn't even use a safety harness or anything like that. All of the workouts he did were undoubtedly meant to keep his body in peak-condition and thus capable of such feats. Her enjoyment of watching was just a pleasant side effect there, as was Oliver liking the fact that she was watching. Shared silent appreciate all around.

Felicity's hands, meanwhile, were flying over her keys again. Searching for something, anything, she could use to help.

The sight of Chien Na Wei acting like a terrified partygoer who'd gotten stuck inside and the beat cops at the street-level forming the police barricade buying it, poisonous hooks and all, letting her by without any words, merited a grimace. It confirmed that the Triad's job here was done, despite the casualties thanks to Team Arrow's efforts.

Felicity filed that name idea—that Oliver probably wouldn't like, but it sounded better than 'the Hood Team'—as she acknowledged another concern regarding the white-haired woman's escape.

 _Had_ any other criminal in Starling survived so many encounters with the vigilante? Was she really that skilled, just lucky?

Or did Oliver make a habit of letting women escape out of some hidden, maybe somewhat subconscious sense of chivalry? Given the comments Diggle had made about him having a crazy, criminal ex-girlfriend (probably the mob princess that'd attacked Zhishan to ignite a war with his mob some weeks ago), it might be something to look into later...

The S.C.P.D were gradually clearing floor-by-floor, but the SWAT team had almost two dozen floors to go before they made it to the penthouse. And only after that would other officers, and paramedics, be allowed up there. Already E. were hurrying up to the second floor, to where Detective Hall was crouched by her boss who was still conscious and therefore hopefully not too badly hurt. Trouble breathing and all signs of waning strength aside.

" _No, no, no! Dad!_ " Tommy Merlyn's voice wasn't altered as it rang through Oliver's primary comm.

At least that aspect of their plans was successful. Missus Queen was safe with Diggle, too, of course, but it was still a relief that with his voice separate synthesizer on the Arrow didn't need the same settings on his radio, and it made more sense to not disguise what he was hearing from his teammates. Still, the young man sounded so desperate Felicity barely recognized him.

" _Dad!_ "

For a moment of resigned heartache, Felicity could only let her eyes drop shut, swallowing as the boy shouted again, that desperation turning to terrified anger.

" _No! Stay back!_ "

Felicity didn't open her eyes right away, she had no reason to. There still weren't any active cameras inside the penthouse. There were no sounds of fighting, either. So the sniper must've made the shot and gone, no backup left behind because it wasn't necessary.

" _I'm not here to hurt you, or your father,_ " the Arrow answered the demand as gently as his voice-changer could allow him to sound, which wasn't very, so unsurprisingly Tommy Merlyn didn't respond well.

" _I said stay back!_ "

Felicity never stopped thinking, though, and there weren't many ways this could play out. Only three ways, in fact.

Either the Arrow left the scene as he'd found it—from the sounds of it their mission to save Malcolm Merlyn a failure with Tommy over his father's dying form.

Tommy could try to shoot him. He had to be pointing the gun that his father had taken from the Triad at the vigilante now, otherwise even his fear for his father wouldn't logically give him the confidence to challenge Starling City's infamous hooded vigilante. Thus another gunshot wound was a possibility tonight, given that the only other person in Starling to have managed that feat was also someone Oliver Queen held dear.

Or he convinced Tommy to let him help, however he could. Having no sight or description of the scene, Felicity couldn't imagine how, but since Oliver wasn't yet leaving—to flee the police or to try and chase down the successful sniper—he obviously was weighting the odds on helping his friend's father. Something Tommy Merlyn probably wouldn't allow unless...

Felicity grimaced, but her hands were making the keystrokes as soon as the realization struck. "Arrow. I've muted your radio. You'll need to un-mute for further contact." She watched the codes comply, scanning the security screens before adding. "The S.C.P.D is now clearing the fifth floor. E.T.A to penthouse **maybe** ten minutes."

There wasn't any response, of course. There couldn't be until Oliver disengaged the sound-block she'd set to make sure that anyone listening to their comm wouldn't hear something they shouldn't.

Given she didn't know who might be listening to the 'sort-of-secure' line of communication Oliver had insisted on using until she came up with something better, this was the best Felicity could do with what she had...

A quick perusal of the reports her programs had tallied told her that there were over half-a-dozen ambulances already at the base of the building. No point in calling more. Pike would only take one, the two bodyguards hopefully two more. And the police knew Merlyn was the target and were making their way towards the top floor. A call might make them move faster, but if Oliver was staying there to help they didn't want the S.C.P.D moving faster, paramedics in tow or not.

So Felicity focused on what she could do. Start programs that'd comb through all the surveillance footage around _Merlyn Global_ 's skyscraper, searching for the assassin Oliver would undoubtedly want to aim an arrow at later.

And go through the S.C.P.D reports, again, to see if maybe Oliver Queen didn't think chivalry was dead and applied to more than just non-criminals. Trying not to think about what she'd say to him if that proved to be true—because what could his mild-mannered, genius I.T girl who might become his girlfriend _say?_ Maybe she should just make sure John noticed it? If he watched the recording the ex-soldier really couldn't miss that definite dramatic pause there, right? It had to be a solid two or three seconds before Detective Hall interrupted...

Sometime after they all stared at the footage of Malcolm Merlyn turning into a ninja in a tuxedo? Assuming he survived...

XXX.

* * *

 _Tommy Merlyn's P.O.V_.

Tommy spun back around as he heard the doors close, not knowing what else to do now that they'd reached their supposedly safe destination. It didn't _feel_ safe. Not when there were all these people that apparently wanted to kill them tonight.

The fact that the Vigilante had shown up to save them hadn't helped him process the unexpected perils. Anymore than his father killing two of the men that obviously weren't caterers just a minute ago had.

"Electromagnetic locks," his father sounded so supremely calm. Certain. Just like he always did at a meeting with the Board or a party thrown for stockholders. Like this was just another all-nighter at the office, rather than an attempt to escape gun toting murderers that the modern day Robin Hood disliked more than one-percenters.

Then again, the Vigilante had saved him once before, hadn't he? That time when he and Ollie were kidnapped...

Tommy shook that thought off—after all, what use could there possibly be to wasting time trying to understand a madman? Even if that madman had saved him twice now. And Laurel who knows how many times...

Even if his father was a madman too. And while his father was many things: ruthless, cold and disappointing to name a few, maybe he wasn't a murderer. Maybe. Because it was self-defense, so it wasn't murder. How his father could be so _calm_ was well beyond him, but as the older man looked at him he met his eyes steadily, wanting some of the calm on the older man's face to sink into himself.

"What if they cut the power?" Tommy wondered aloud, still looking around worriedly.

The elder Merlyn gave an immediate headshake, "This floor is on an entire separate grid."

"The glass?" Tommy glanced towards the windows and back as his father reassured him again.

"Lexan. Bulletproof." He said matter-of-factly, and even though that calm certainty didn't seem to be sinking in all that fast, each word was a buoy in the hurricane this insane night had become. "It's **over**."

Despite all the problems between them, Tommy couldn't help but feel just a little better. His father was here, saying they were safe: there was a time that'd mean it was unquestionably true. But that time, the golden childhood that sometimes seemed like it'd never been, was long ago though.

And never would that safety mean his father actually killing someone... the real shock of the night. Beyond the Hood turning into a hero for him again. Beyond the guys with machine guns and knives that wanted him, or at least his dad— _probably_ his dad—dead. Beyond that bewildered moment when he'd realized his father's bodyguards were shooting the wait-staff because they _weren't_ waiters. After he'd seen both men and some sort of head-cop get shot, only to be rescued from the machine gun guys by the crazy man with the bow and arrow. After they'd made it to the elevator and were supposedly home free, only to be stopped by more guys with guns that his dad had somehow...

"How did you know how to do that?" Tommy couldn't keep his upside-down worldview out of his voice, shaking his head slowly as he met the older man's unwavering gaze. As he watched his father's face freeze.

"What?" was Malcolm Merlyn's answer, but it was plain on his frozen face that he knew exactly what his son was referring to.

"Fight... _ **Kill?**_ " Tommy wasn't sure when he'd started shaking his head slowly, but what he was saying didn't make him think it was time to stop shaking. His head, or the rest of him that was subtly shivering against all the shocks.

Not that headshakes or shivers made it easier to believe he was actually asking this. If he hadn't been standing right there, he wouldn't have believed it'd happened. He still barely believed what his own eyes had seen.

He'd endured many looks from his father. Most of them some version of disappointment that always seemed so unfair all things considered. A handful of times there was sadness, but many more times were the fake smiles they both forced while in public back when they were speaking to each other. Before tonight.

This long look was... assessing? Uncertain?

Tommy couldn't quite say, but he saw the moment the older man decided to answer him.

Except he didn't answer. Instead he walked towards the wall of abstract paintings, pushing one sideways as though that was a normal thing for abstract art to do.

"Dad?" Tommy frowned at him, not understanding what he was doing, and continuing to blink as the wall to the right of the painting slid open after what must be a security pad accepted his father's command. Realizing this was his father's way of actually answering him about something important, for once, he stepped towards him—

 _ **KA-BOOM!**_

A wall of sound sent him crashing into a solid wall, then down to the floor, his ears ringing and the floor—or was that the wall? Or the ceiling?—spinning.

Tommy blinked once, and then again, groaning as he tried to make sense of anything. A challenge tonight before the room turned upside down and all around.

A groan he barely heard through the ringing in his ears made him look across the disaster-zone that'd been his father's office just a second—or maybe a minute? Minutes?—ago.

His father was pushing himself up from the floor that was covered in millions of tiny chunks of glass that made it look a lot like a hailstorm had hit inside the office. "Tommy? You okay?" the older Merlyn sounded farther away than Tommy's eyes said he was, still it was noticeable that he didn't sound quite as cucumber-cool as he had before. But he was still a lot more put-together than the son that could never live up to his expectations.

That thought made Tommy nod his head shakily, even though he wasn't completely sure that silent answer was true. Were all the icy glass shards on the floor or were they still in the air, too? No, they wouldn't be in the air still—gravity. Even snow—and hail, and now broken glass—obeyed it.

His father, apparently, somehow not so much. Because he was standing up again and walking across the glass-covered floor towards the hole in the windows.

How was he standing?

What was he doing?

Why was there a hole in the windows? Considering how high up they were that couldn't be safe. But it wasn't there before—it appeared with the wall of sound and the glass storm.

Why was his dad walking towards the hole in the windows?

Except then he wasn't—the titan was falling backwards, and Tommy's world toppled, once again, with him as he fell flat on the floor. And didn't move.

"Dad! Dad?!" Tommy found himself shouting, horrified as he realized his gravity-defying father wasn't getting back up again. He scrambled towards him, no longer caring about the little pieces of glass cutting into his palms and probably the soles of his shoes as he did so. Probably ruining the slacks he couldn't afford to replace, too, as he knelt next to his father and stared down at his unmoving face. " _Dad?_ "

Facing that total stillness made cuts and clothes not matter. What'd happened? He was walking towards the window with the huge hole—

Only then did Tommy recognize that hole in the bulletproof glass for the hazard it really was. That had him grabbing his father's wrists to pull him away from the damn windows and across the glass-covered floor that'd ruin his stupid suit, too. Straining to pull him towards the floor that looked less glass-covered, hoping against hope that he hadn't lost the chance to...

He didn't know what. All he knew was Ollie was right.

 _He wasn't perfect... My dad made mistakes... But still, I would give_ _ **anything**_ _to have him back._

"Dad. I-I'm sorry," Tommy mumbled, tongue tripping over itself as he knelt next to him again. Shaky hands fumbled desperately trying to unknot the older man's bowtie, hoping he'd be able to feel a pulse underneath the shirt collar. Only to startle back when his father groaned again. Then he stared in dumbfounded, but relieved, disbelief as the elder's eyes opened.

"I'm okay," his father grimaced, tugging at his collar to tear open his shirt, heedless of the buttons sent scattered along the glass-covered floor by the act. "I'm okay."

And again Tommy could only stare, now down at what he realized wasn't any normal kind of undershirt worn beneath the dapper dress shirt that went with his dad's tux. A normal undershirt didn't stop bullets, but there were three sticking out of it. At least he _assumed_ the three crunched up metal-things were bullets: because what else could they _be_ but bullets?

Bullets that'd been shot at his dad.

That'd _hit_ his dad.

That was where the blood was coming from...

"No, no, no! You're bleeding," Tommy touched some of that stain that was so glaring on the white collar, half-hoping doing so would make it a blemish from spilling wine earlier—never mind that they were only severing champagne downstairs—and not blood leaking out of his dad's chest because of the bullets that had obviously made it far enough to make him bleed. "You're bleeding..."

"I'll... be fine..." His father's hand patted his more gently than he had in...

Who knows how long it'd been since he'd touched him that gently. Since he'd touched him at all. Years? Decades?

"I'll be fine, Tom..." except he didn't complete this reassurance. Didn't even finishing Tommy's name before his eyes rolled back in his head as his whole shape went slack.

"No, no, no, Dad!" Tommy shouted, grabbing his head and staring at his closed eyelids, willing them to open again. " _Dad!_ "

A sound from behind instinctively made Tommy turn.

And the sight of the man in a green hood with a bow in hand and arrows on his back didn't reassure him at all. Even if he'd saved Tommy twice now, Tommy didn't make it a habit to trust murderers in masks. Or any murderers... his dad didn't count; that was self-defense and he was going to explain.

So when the vigilante took another step closer, Tommy grabbed the gun that his father had tucked into his belt (after killing the not-caterer with it) and pointed it at the archer. "No! Stay back!"

The terrifying man held his free hand up like it could ward off bullets better than the bulletproof vest and windows had. " _I'm not here to hurt you, or your father,_ " he said. His voice sounded more like a machine than a man. Dark and dead.

"I said stay back!" Tommy repeated, half stunned to realize the archer wasn't aiming arrows at him even now.

Apparently aiming a gun at him didn't count as 'failing this city' and self-defense didn't deserve arrows? Or at least towards him; how did you tell where you were aiming these things?

Either way, the vigilante still wasn't even reaching for his arrows, though there was a whole bunch of them on his back. Instead he was crouching to put his bow down and pick something else up off the floor.

One of the pieces of glass? Tommy couldn't tell, even though he was staring straight at the shadowy man, willing his hands not to shake. (It was mostly working.)

Watching him pause, maybe nod, then hold whatever he'd picked up to his nose? Then he muttered something that the terrified son couldn't hear.

Tommy shook his head, again deciding against trying to work out the mind of a madman. "Don't come any closer!" he repeated again when the vigilante stood again, just a little reassured by the bow being left on the ground.

Very little reassured, though. After all, the Hood _had_ killed all of the men that'd kidnapped him and Ollie without any bow or arrows... three professional kidnappers probably armed with a lot more firepower than the gun that Tommy was pointing towards him, hoping it didn't look like he'd never fired a gun before. Because he hadn't.

" _Your father's been poisoned._ " The archer told him, still looking towards the ground so that the shadows of his huge hood somehow hid most of his face. " _The assassin laced his bullets with curare._ "

That name rang another bell of panic—just like 'poison,' 'bullets' and 'assassin' did—even as the vigilante went on, his mechanical voice somehow a little reassuring.

" _I've dealt with this before. We need to dilute the poison in his bloodstream._ "

"I said stay the hell back!" Tommy shouted the words when the he stepped closer, refusing to listen to a single thing the murderer said.

He shouldn't listen, after all. The man was a professional murderer who went after people just like his dad. It didn't matter why he'd decided to switch to saving a billionaire tonight rather than killing one.

Just a few weeks ago the Hood would've killed Moira Queen if she hadn't shot him first. In self-defense. And Ollie's mother couldn't have done _anything_ to deserve that. If this madman was threatening _her_ , there was no reason he wouldn't come after Malcolm Merlyn, too.

" _In three minutes he's paralyzed. In four minutes, he suffocates._ " The madman continued, voice rising only a little as he finished emphatically. " _If you don't let me help you_ _ **now**_ _, he's_ _ **dead**_ _before anybody gets here!_ "

Ollie's words last night came back to him again then, ' _I would give_ _ **anything**_ _to have him back..._ '

And what if what he was saying was _**true?**_

Tommy swallowed, but didn't otherwise move from pointing the gun at the archer as he asked, "Help? How?"

" _Fresh blood buys him time to get to the hospital._ "

Tommy blinked, barely able to believe he was understanding what the man was suggesting. "A blood transfusion?" he shook his head sharply before the man could confirm. "That's **insane!** "

" _It's the only way,_ " the Vigilante insisted like he was suggesting something reasonable. " _He needs your blood._ "

And Tommy was remembering his best friend's words yet again, making more sense than the ringing in his ears or anything the costumed guy in front of him could say. ' _Because... at the end of the day, your dad is...your dad._ '

" _You're out of time,_ " the Vigilante spoke up again, in that same mechanical insistence. " _You need to make a decision_ _ **right now**_ _._ "

It seemed like a lot of work to save someone from poisoned bullets only to kill him later with an arrow, but how could Tommy know that wasn't exactly the infamous criminal's plan?

Tommy shook his head, the gun shaking in his hands as he stared hopelessly at the man that still wasn't looking at him. " **Why** should I **trust** **you?!** " he shouted, every bit of the desperation curled up in his chest unfurling into the words.

For a very long moment the man just stood there, then the hand he'd been holding up earlier moved to his chest, before going up again, only this time he was actually lowering the notorious green hood as he turned to face Tommy for the first time.

And Tommy couldn't even think, only stare as he realized he _recognized_ that face. The shadows weren't usually there—painted on like some kind of war-paint—but he knew the eyes meeting his right now almost as well as those in his own reflection. He'd grown up grinning along with that gaze's grin. Grown up alongside him. Know that he, at least, could always trust him to be there. Till he was taken by a storm and the sea.

"Because you always have," his best friend answered. His voice now familiar; somehow not mechanical sounding without his hood hiding his head.

"...Oliver." Tommy said his best friend's name as if doing so might actually make seeing him standing there make sense.

It didn't make sense.

But it did make him lower the gun.

Oliver immediately dashed across the room and seized the first-aid supplies from the station that he'd once heard the his dad's C.F.O complain was needlessly supplied better than most ambulances. His father had answered that he'd feel very differently if there were ever any paramedics here without something they needed to save his life.

Tommy blinked and already his green-leathered friend was kneeling next to him going through the medical supplies. He couldn't watch, because that didn't make sense either.

How would his best friend have learned how to do a blood transfusion on a deserted island?

How would he have learned how to **fight?** How to **kill?**

 **Why** would he?

Why would he kill all those people?

How many people had he killed?

Tommy didn't even know how many. He knew it was a lot more than just the three kidnappers. That was why the revelation that Laurel had been working with the Hood had scared him so much.

Until that maniac even Lance sided with the Hood against had proved to be far worse. _Make sure this message finds its way to the vigilante. Do it fast. Because at sunrise, I'm gonna leave pieces of this girl all over Starling City unless he pays me a little visit..._

That it was _Oliver_ that Laurel had been working with—who'd ultimately saved her life that night—wasn't a thought he could touch with any length of pole. Not now. Not tonight.

"Okay," Oliver's voice called his focus back to him, and Tommy looked at his wrist as he felt the sleeve being tugged back. "Ready?"

Tommy glanced at the big needle his friend was holding for only a second before agreeing. "Do it," he said, wincing as the needle was pressed into his wrist, but glad beyond words could express that he was a universal donor who'd never been sick a day in his life, undoubtedly due to all the immunizations his best-of-the-best doctor had insisted on. It seemed important now. Vital. That this would definitely help and not hurt, or worse.

The feel of fabric wrapping around his arm had him opening his eyes again, and he watched as the needle in his arm was tied into place by the mummy-like dressing around his wrist.

"Hold that," Oliver ordered after he manipulated his hand into a loose fist around the tubing that was already draining blood from his wrist.

Wordlessly, Tommy kept obeying, still not sure if he wanted to be staring at his dying father or the green-leathered best friend he'd thought he'd gotten back from the dead just a few months ago.

 _Lying, keeping secrets about who she's spending time with—does that remind you of anybody we know?_

 _Me. In every relationship I've ever been in._

 _Me, too._ _ **Except**_ _this one..._

"Hold his arm," was Oliver's next command.

And again Tommy complied, eyes following the needle that was dripping blood before it was pressed into his father's wrist.

"Come on, come on, come," Oliver muttered, and Tommy's eyes followed his to stare at his father again, looking for any sign of life.

Was he even breathing?

"You're the Vigilante..." Tommy said then, not entirely sure why, but deciding to ask anyway since it looked like his dad might be dead and he couldn't handle that. "Why?"

 _We both know that she has a pretty strong record of being attracted to guys who are_ _ **dangerous**_ _. Who break the rules._ _ **Show me**_ _a more dangerous rule-breaker than_ _ **The Hood**_ _._

Oliver sighed heavily, then told him, "Later." He went on before Tommy could decide if he shouldn't accept that or not. "He's still going to need medical attention to fully clean out his system, you understand?"

Tommy nodded shakily, wondering if the chill crawling through him was from the blood loss or the realization that his best friend and father were both killers. And liars.

"Okay..." Oliver started to stand.

"Thank you," Tommy said, again without thinking, but it was also something that had to be said.

However many people Oliver had killed, he had chosen to save Tommy's father. A few weeks ago, he'd saved Laurel, too. That deserved a thank you at least.

Everything else...

How he'd become what he was.

Why he'd do everything the police accused him of and let him go due to lack of evidence.

Everything since then; including threatening and getting shot by his own mother...

Later, he'd said.

And as his father finally drew a deep breath in, Tommy thought he might be able to accept that.

 _...Have an honest chat with her. Find out the real reason she's keeping secrets._

"Tommy..."

"I'm right here, Dad," the words came automatically as he blinked down as his father's groggy face—all that cold, cutting calmness melted momentarily away by almost dying.

A good thing, since Tommy's mind was moving in circles through the last few hours, and the last few months, like his world was a globe set spinning by a tyrannical two year old and there was no telling when it would stop.

Oliver—hood, bow, arrows and all—was nowhere to be seen.

 _I just can't believe that Laurel, of all people, would lie to my face. I guess that's the way it is with the people you're closest to._

 _I know... but talk to her anyway, and fix this. Before it becomes unfixable._

He didn't know how long it was before the police rushed in, thankfully with the paramedics his father desperately needed and through the doorway Oliver must've opened because Tommy didn't know if he would've been able to tear himself away from his father's side to do so.

Still, he could hardly blame the detectives for then throwing all the questions he couldn't answer.

"What did the Hood say to you?" McKenna Hall wanted to know, her tone saying it was something he should've told them without them needing to ask.

"He didn't say anything," Tommy lied flatly, trying to keep everything he'd felt in the last hour—minutes, lifetime?—from leaking out into his words as he wondered when the cold had started to melt.

It was raining. Not snowing. The world was melting.

"You let a homicidal maniac talk you into a homemade blood transfusion instead of calling the paramedics?" the girl he'd once partied with, back before she wore a badge, probably couldn't sound more incredulous if she tried.

Tommy didn't look at either of them, instead watching the E.M.T's load his dad into an ambulance, clutching his now bandaged wristed as he replied. "My father's life was at stake."

It seemed like such a simple statement. It wasn't. Probably in a million more ways than Tommy could think of, it really, really wasn't. And it was.

Then Laurel's father finally spoke up for the first time since the pair had caught him walking out by the stretcher. "So, first the Hood rescues you and Queen from those kidnappers. Now he saves your old man... but he's taking down every other one-percenter out there." The hesitation was as obvious as the words that were coming next. "This guy a friend of yours, Merlyn?"

It was surprisingly easy to finally look back at him and admit, "I don't know who the hell he is."

Because, really, had his best friend come back from the dead? Or some stranger that could kill... however many men the Hood had killed?

Tommy didn't know. Except now he couldn't not think about it as he climbed into the ambulance after his dad, silently accepting the seat the E.M.T's gestured him to, strapping himself in as he thought about some of those things he didn't want to think about.

He'd seen a few of the news reports, of course. He and Ollie—Oliver, were the first ones to supposedly survive encountering 'him,' so it was a passing curiosity. But he'd followed Oliver's lead and pretty much disregarded the odd man.

Any real thoughts of him were irrelevant as soon as Ollie was 'proven innocent' and completely driven from his head when his father decided to cut him off. Still, he heard the 'armed and extremely dangerous' tag that the reporters repeatedly applied to him, back before some of them started hailing him as a hero every now and again.

But before the vigilante had saved Laurel from Cyrus Vanch he'd still been pretty much a nonentity to Tommy Merlyn. An urban legend that just happened to be more than a myth. As crazy an idea as any he'd ever heard of—a modern day Robin Hood, for God's sake.

Something that hadn't made sense to him; going after other rich guys after saving Ollie and Tommy?

Exposing a man murdering firemen by setting them on fire while they were trying to fight fires?

 _Then_ attacking Missus Queen... something that wouldn't work in Tommy's head no matter how he tried to think about it—or tried _not_ to think about it. _**Why**_ the hell would Oliver attack _his mother?!_

It didn't make sense, but he had better things to think about back then, before he found out Laurel didn't. Then he felt betrayed and scared, then just plain terrified, and eventually grateful to have Laurel back in his arms, alive and whole and unharmed. Grateful that he'd listened to his best friend's advice and tried to make-up with her a lot sooner than he probably otherwise would have.

Still, what he did know was that Oliver being this infamous killer was worse than his father's unexpected skills. So much, much worse.

Because Tommy had gotten used to being disappointed by his dad decades ago—it was the work of Tommy's lifetime.

Just like his relationship with his best friend—a man who'd been like a brother to him even longer.

Who'd played with him and partied with him.

Who'd stood by his side after his mother died, and when his father abandoned him.

Who'd even come back from the dead.

And lied to him. Lies of omission, maybe, but lies nonetheless.

Like his father, but worse. So much, much worse. Because his father just made everything feel cold. So, so cold. But he was used to that cold.

Oliver... _this?_

It was making the world melt. And not in a good way. Any moment now all the secrets and lies could make everything burn and boil. Nothing at all made sense...

 _I guess that's just the way it is with the people you're closest to..._

Tommy just hoped that there was some way to fix it before it became unfixable. And he tried not to think about just how unlikely that almost had to be.

XXX.

* * *

 _Methos's P.O.V_.

Methos didn't bother glancing up from his beer at Joe's approach, he didn't need to. The former marine had been outfitted with a state-of-the-art prosthetics a few years back—when he'd agreed to come out of his unwanted retirement to act as Regional Director for the North American branch of the Watchers—but it hadn't changed his habitual gait anymore than age had thus far. "Something I can do for you, Joe?"

"Yeah," the Watcher replied immediately, his voice at that specific level that no one else would be able to make out his words even though he wasn't whispering so as to not draw unwanted attention. A good thing, too, since there were a handful of other Watchers scattered around the Blues' Bar. "You can tell me what's going on in Starling City."

"Starling City?" Methos took a deliberately slow sip of beer as he pretended to consider it. "That's the place with that guy playing Robin Hood, right?"

"What? No—well, yeah," Joe shook his head, sighing he propped himself up into the barstool beside the Immortal, before he continued. "That's not what I'm talking about." He held a tablet out, setting it down on the counter between them, and Methos recognized it as the same one the Watchers provided him with for official business, etc. "Why am I going to be getting weekly updates about Starling City when there aren't any known Immortals there?"

Methos shrugged, "Isn't that a question for The Tribunal?"

"Except they called this morning to ask me about it, since 'my request' for regular updates required re-tasking at least several cyber-analysts in Research and a Field Watcher." Joe shook his head and gestured at the device again. "Which doesn't really make sense, since we weren't able to find any sign of the Immortal that scared Mathis Fournier off of headhunting and back to studying art in Marseille. So really—"

"Art, really?" Methos had to snort at that. "Like history, or Monet?"

The Watcher ignored his interruption. "Now, we'd assumed that since we couldn't find any of the usual signs—"

"There's usual signs?" Methos said just to interrupt again, and be completely ignored then too.

"—that an Immortal might be living in Starling, rather than Fournier running into someone else who was passing through." Joe shook his head again, "But looking back, that doesn't make much sense. I mean, Fournier isn't a whole decade older than me, but he'd been a headhunter for over forty years. It'd take someone pretty impressive to scare him off. Someone other Immortals would know about."

"Would it?" Methos took another sip of beer, hoping this conversation wasn't going where the thought it was. And mentally kicking himself for leaving this opening for the bored old man to find.

Sure, he'd known hacking Joe's account on the Watchers' Database—something that was disappointingly easy, mind you—to order a minor operations change wasn't something the mortal would miss. But maybe he should've tried something else first. The Watcher's weren't the only ones watching Immortals these days, after all, even if the ancient really preferred modern technology to smoke signals and invisible ink.

So he tried half-heartedly to head it off, "The kid posing as me a while back convinced more than just Ritchie before Culbraith got him."

But Joe Dawson could be like a dog with a beef bone that still had some tasty meat on it when he found something like this. "He didn't convince you."

Methos had to snort again at that. "How could he? He was pretending to _be_ _**me**_ ," he finished almost inaudibly, then shook his head again. "And I never said I didn't _like_ the idea of ending The Game."

"You didn't stick around to help him either."

"No. I didn't," the ancient took another swig of beer, savoring the bitter taste for a long moment before he finally swallowed it again. "Learned a long time ago that pacifism as shield doesn't tend to work well. Particularly for individuals. Without the massive numbers needed to really back it up." He shrugged. "And there are too many Immortals out there that _like_ the violence. You'd know better than me how many Immortals fall into that category."

"Since you're still hacking our files," Joe gestured to the device again. "You've gotta have a good idea, too. But there's a lot of good ones out there."

"There are."

The Watcher watched him for a moment, then prodded, "Like the girl that was here a few days ago? Alyssa? If she's ever even gone by that name."

"Uh-huh," the ancient acknowledged unhelpfully before another gulp of beer.

Dawson was a rare friend who'd managed to keep the secret of Adam, ex-Watcher Immortal, actually the world's oldest Immortal to himself for almost twenty years now.

But that didn't mean Methos would tell him—and through him, maybe unintentionally—the other Watchers, anything about the little sister that'd sometimes seemed to be the only good thing still in the world more than once. Not when Joe had only met 'Alyssa' because she'd been short on time when she'd come to him for a refresher crash-course in combat yet again. Especially not when martial skill wasn't at all her problem these days; her damn sentimental morality about mortals, and mortals in general, was.

The Watcher waited only a moment before prodding again, "Like in Starling City, for example?"

Methos just looked at Joe over the rim of his beer for a long second before he took another sip, concentrating on the drink.

"Come on, Me— _Adam_ ," Joe corrected himself at the sharp look the ancient shot him. "Even if Robin Hood was your student—"

"Wait, what?" Methos blinked at him, then outright laughed.

A bit from real amusement, but mostly glad that the man was willing to drop the subject of the ancient's beautiful, mysterious student for now. Again.

He went on with real amusement then, "As far as I know, Joe, the archer that's been in the news over the last few weeks isn't any older than MacLeod. Or you. Really, he's probably half your age or less."

Joe's expression didn't change at the disclosure, but the much older man still had the distinct impression that it wasn't at all the answer that the old Watcher was hoping for.

A little strange, since researching said archer could mostly be handled via the web thanks to the media's ever-growing fascination with the man. And even if her heels had hidden her exact height, her wig her real hair and make-up disguising everything else, there was no mistaking Felicitas for the male archer who's musculature had already started a few fan forums. Despite every available image of him being useless for identification. Leather revealed a lot more than it hid; and the discerning eyes of many hero-worshippers liked what they saw. Which was in no way a woman.

So from Joe's understanding there should be no connection between the woman who'd showed up here a little while back and the archer in Starling City. Nothing other than Methos wanting the Watchers to keep an eye on that city. Her city. Damn it.

Methos forced another shrug, "I guess he could be. But I've never seen anything that indicated the English ballads and folklore were actually based on one historical man. Never mind an Immortal."

"But you don't know?" the Watcher pressed.

"No," Methos admitted with another shrug. Then he reached over the bar with his empty pint, only too willingly surrender it to the bar owner when it was snatched away, but not going on until it was being refilled from the nearby tap. "Odds are, if Robin Hood was an Immortal who'd been around all this time? He'd be a lot more like MacLeod than me. He'd have had no real reason to _stop_ robbing the rich to give to the poor for most of the Highlander's lifetime. Let alone to start up again now in one of America's smaller cities. Thanks," he tacked on as his replenished drink was returned to him, shrugging yet again as he added, "I mean, most people probably never heard of Starling City before this guy started shooting arrows around."

Joe sighed, sinking further back in his chair as he crossed his arms. "Then why _your_ interest?" he glared when Methos started to shrug yet again. "I spent over an hour feeding my superiors bull this morning so you could have your regular updates, old man. The least you can do is tell me why I should let you have them when they come."

"Let me?" Methos raised an eyebrow at him, and Joe's glare turned into an exasperated eye-roll.

"You know, I _could_ always tell the Tribunal that our software really needs to be updated. That I have reason to suspect it's not secure."

"If you tried that, they'd probably ask _me_ to fix it for you," Methos pointed out smugly.

Knowing that it was a truth the Watcher couldn't really deny. Both because they knew he had the skills and their adjustment to an Immortal among them, once most of the 'kill him!' lot were culled, was to consider the database traditionally the realm of its only creator still living. Who just so happened to be an Immortal.

The Watchers hadn't like learning of the Immortal that'd been one of them. More than a few had rightly suspected that he wasn't actually ever a mortal whilst he was amongst them. But in the years since many Watchers had deliberately kept in contact with 'Adam Pearson,' mostly just so they could say they actually knew an Immortal. More than one of those were among the well-liked Watchers who were elected to the Tribunal.

It was something Joe should understand, but probably didn't think about since it wasn't at all the same relationship he still had with the Highlander. Wasn't anything like it.

Methos wouldn't call any of his many contacts within the Watchers friends, after all... well, maybe one or two. Plus Joe Dawson, of course.

But he mostly maintained the acquaintanceships because it led to warnings like the one about the Dodger; a jewel-thief who put bomb-collars on hostages, headed for America. Although Methos hadn't been able to believe a word Felicity said about having been a good girl after his passed-on warning in that regard, he still appreciated the information. Just not nearly enough to give up someone who was the closest thing he had to family though.

Not because of Joe. Joe Dawson had joined the ranks of mortals whom Methos would always remember as a friend decades ago.

Nonetheless, the possibility of Watchers again going renegade and hunting Immortals wasn't something he was willing to be unwary about. It'd happened before, it could all too easily happen again.

If it did, he probably wouldn't 'ask' Ra's al Ghul to wait again.

If something happen to Felicitas, her most perilous student wouldn't listen to him anyway. And Methos would never forgive himself if his revealing her led to anything happening to the ancient queen he'd called 'little sister' for far longer than most of the modern nations had existed in any shape or form.

"You're probably right," Joe admitted grudgingly, waiving to get his bartender's attention and gesturing for a beer for himself as he took the stool next to Methos. The ex-marine drained several gulps before setting his mug down and turning to the Immortal again. "So you think this 'Hood' character's mortal then?"

"Don't have any reason not to," Methos pointed out, snagging some slightly stale, very salty, pretzels from the nearest snack bowl to munch on as he continued. "Archery's been making a come-back, you know. And there's a reason any English historian will tell you there's too many 'Robert' or 'Robin' Hoods in old records to be sure which, if any or maybe many of them, started the ballads."

"Yeah, it was the surname for anyone who made hoods back then, I know," Joe sighed.

"Or wore them." Methos added before his next handful of pretzels.

"That doesn't make any sense," the mortal grumbled, tossing his own handful of munchies back.

Methos chuckled, "Hey, there was a pretty long stretch of time before surnames, you know. It's why so many of them actually mean 'of' some place or other."

"At least _that_ makes more sense than the wearing a hood thing," Joe insisted grumpily. "I mean, what happened when you took the hood off? Or started baking bread instead of making hoodies?"

From Methos' experience it'd never really worked that way. But the historian's gripes with historical nonsense made him chuckle. "I guess," he indicated the tablet then, where it'd been on the bar for most of this conversation, but didn't bother reaching for it. "So, anything interesting?"

Joe glared at him for a few seconds, then relented. "Not really..." he started, but trailed off after a glance at the television, making Methos look towards the muted device, too, just in time to see the **BREAKING NEWS** headline start scrolling across the screen again as the Watcher turned the volume up.

 **ATTACK ON MERLYN GLOBAL GROUP**

 **THWARTED BY STARLING CITY VIGILANTE!**

 _"...Civil Dispatch's own Jacqui Simms was on scene for the ceremony's interruption, with more details,"_ the anchor introduced the vaguely familiar female that appeared on the screen even before he'd finished.

 _"Good evening, Jonathan."_

Methos placed 'Jacqui' as soon as he heard her voice; she was one of the media's most vocal advocates for the Starling City vigilante's 'unsung heroism.' He'd seen her in at least half a dozen debate recordings this afternoon, while he was trying to figure out exactly why Felicitas had called and 'reminded' him that she was, in fact, in Seacouver with him today and through tonight.

The sort of thing that might be risky to say in a phone call, considering tapping phones _was_ something the Watcher's did illegally all the time these days. But she'd been calling via her 'secrets phone'—as she'd dubbed the device supplied to the protected 'honored ones' by the League of Assassins—and that meant anyone who wanted to know what was said on them would have to invade the League's primary base to get their master decryption algorithms. Why Ra's followers themselves relied almost exclusively on far more outdated communications methods with that setup available had long confused the ancient. But using the phone system they secured meant anyone who actually managed such a feat would deserve all the knowledge they sought. Particularly since they still probably wouldn't survive exiting even if they made it inside.

So Felicity's request wasn't unusual, not at all a difficult thing to remember, and the sort of thing they always did for each other when need be. But that didn't mean Methos hadn't been curious. He could feel his inner cat losing one of its many, many lives as he watched the journalist keep posing professionally for the camera, her practiced smile just right for the serious subject.

 _"Less than an hour ago, mere minutes after accepting the Humanitarian of the Year Award, Mister Malcolm Merlyn was attacked by unknown assailants. After the building's own alarm system was used to clear the lobby, Malcolm and Tommy Merlyn were pursued by men armed with machine guns, who quickly overwhelmed their bodyguards, as well as the S.C.P.D's own Lieutenant Frank Pike."_ She gestured overhead, and the cameraman complied with the silent command to get a closer look at the second-story walkway that connected the main building to its parking garage. _"We could hear the gunfire coming from the skywalk. The same rapid series of gunshots I once heard in Afghanistan now invading one of Starling City's most iconic buildings."_ During the pregnant pause that followed that pronouncement, the camera came back to her serious smile. _"But that firefight stopped after many here witness the man in the hood's arrival. While we have little information from inside the building at this time, we were able to capture our hero himself on camera twice."_

The broadcast switched from her to a shot of the same skywalk they'd just seen overhead, only this time there was no red dot or the designation LIVE in the corner, and the camera was shakier (probably handheld) as it captured a shot of a man being pulled up by a cord—apparently attached to his actual bow—to the roof of the nearby parking garage, followed by another arrow being fired at the top of the nearby skyscraper and also pulling him up. The images sped up a moment later, the skip in time clearly indicated by the digital time under the image, while they saw the vigilante riding his bow back down to the parking garage before disappearing.

"Well he obviously has no fear of heights," Joe commented, both of them, and everyone else in the bar, riveted on the story.

"That's not exclusive to Immortals, Joe," Methos pointed out. "Some people are just nuts."

 _"A short time afterwards, S.C.P.D Lieutenant Pike and both of Mister Merlyn's bodyguards; all with gunshot wounds but still alive when paramedics drove them away,_ " the woman went on.

 _"Followed shortly thereafter by Mister Merlyn, himself, who was also taken by ambulance to Starling City Hospital for medical attention."_

Again an image that wasn't being filmed live appeared, this time displaying Tommy Merlyn following a stretcher to an ambulance, two probably police detectives on his heels until he actually climbed into the ambulance.

Were it not for his research this afternoon, of course, Methos wouldn't recognize the man. He hadn't been lying, a few years back, when he told MacLeod he was weak on pop culture, and the celebrities who's only claim to fame was their money and what they spent it on were even less important to him than who the latest pop singers and the like were.

But inherent to researching Starling City these days was looking into what little was known about the archer that'd made himself both infamous and famous over the last few months. The first appearance of 'The Hood' was his rescue of Tommy Merlyn and the then recently returned from the dead—as in Robinson Crusoe castaway 'dead,' not First-Death-dead—Oliver Queen from some kidnappers back in October.

The 'man in the hood' as the reporter on screen again called him, likely had as many fans as he did enemies at this point, but it was interesting that he'd chosen to take the trouble of saving Tommy Merlyn again, this time his father too, when he'd shot arrows at more than a few other rich men.

Of course, he'd branched out more than once from exclusively terrifying the corrupt into being less corrupt or becoming a bull's eye. Fighting robbers, mobsters, hostage-takers: one bomb-collar-wielding jewel thief included, as well as internationally-wanted assassins and occasionally saving a few lucky souls from being mugged and maybe murdered. To name only a few of the reasons people like Miss Simms were calling him a hero.

And Felicitas probably was, too.

 _"At this time, the police are unwilling to comment on the particulars. Starling General and Merlyn Global also have no comment on the conditions of their four patients."_ The vigilante's head-cheerleader's satisfaction wasn't quite hidden as she appeared on the screen again, maybe that was why her network cut away to the distant images of the vigilante again almost right away. _"But as our recordings prove, the man-in-the-hood was here tonight, in time to intervene, again perhaps the hero that Starling City needs even if present laws won't let us admit it."_

Methos whistled, "That's provocative, even for her," he took another sip of his beer as he finished. Watching the Watchers wander back to their own seats, or just turn back to their own tables, as their leader lowered the volume again when the interrupting news segment ended and the scheduled programming came back on.

That being reruns of one of those comedy-soaps from the nineties that he never watched and Joe hated, but played anyway since some of his clients liked it. Those clients weren't here now, but it was easier just to have the shows playing at near-silent volume when said regulars showed up than to have to turn the television on and find the stupid shows.

"Provocative, yeah," Joe shook his head, gesturing to the tablet he'd been not quite unintentionally taunting the Immortal with since he came over here to demand answers. "Things are pretty bad in that city, have been for years from the looks of it. The local cops are underfunded, outnumbered and outgunned by the organized crime there, but the city isn't big enough, and the murder rate not quite high enough for the feds to get involved except when something bigger happens there."

"Like a weird vigilante setting up shop?" Methos hazarded, though he really doubted that was the case. How disappointed the Watcher was to learn that, as far the world's oldest Immortal knew; no, the Starling City Vigilante was not Robin Hood, had been a little to concrete for that. And the direct interest of the United States federal government on a possible Immortal wasn't something the Watchers would _ever_ wish for...

"No," Joe shook his head as expected. "They had their eye on that Interpol investigation when that jewel thief that Research clued you in on went there. But for some reason we haven't heard anything to indicate they might be going to help the police task force that hasn't really come even close to catching him." His gray hair glinted silver under the blue lights his bar still favored for lighting as he shook his head. "My guess is someone high enough up thinks he'll do more good than catching him will—they can't really say that when he's dropping bodies, but..."

"Didn't stop Miss Simms," Methos pointed out, raising his still half-full second glass towards the muted T.V. "Though that's gonna blow up in her face if he does start 'dropping bodies' every few nights again."

"Actually, the last time he killed a lot was when a mob-war broke out between the Italian and Chinese mobs," Joe shrugged. "Can't say I see a problem with that. Or making white-collar crooks give back what they've stolen... then again, I guess it's all relative."

"Very," Methos nodded, draining the last few gulps of his beer before elaborating. "Wasn't all that long ago that the law was just whatever the strongest guy said, you know. Relatively."

"Yeah, though I'm not sure your viewpoint can be called 'relative' to anyone else," Joe replied, before frowning. "And I can't say I like what it says about modern society that it was only in my career that we had to start hiding the bodies after duels."

"Honor duels **were** legal in some places up to the nineteenth century." Methos shrugged, not needed to comment that wearing a sword going out of fashion as result had been unfortunate. Though ladies had had to hide their steel far longer, and as such were ready to help him and Immortal men like him adapt, however reluctantly. "And someone without a name or any way to identify them wasn't worth much trouble to local communities until it meant news that everyone might worry about."

"That's what I mean."

The ancient shook his head, "Careful what you wish for, Joe. Really rapid progress usually means a lot more dead bodies, not less." He had more before going on with deliberate lightness. "Speaking of duels, what's MacLeod been up to?"

Joe arched an eyebrow at him. "He's not here in Seacouver."

"Doesn't mean he's not included in your updates, wherever he is."

"And why should I tell you?" the Watcher hit back. "You've been deliberately unhelpful tonight yourself."

"But you want to tell me anyway," Methos smirked, knowing it was even truer than the comment about the Watcher's Tribunal likely calling him for tech support as needed.

If there was one thing that Watchers loved to gossip about, it was the exciting, do-gooder youngsters like Duncan Macleod. Joe was no exception.

"You sure the Hood's not—"

"I already told you, Joe," Methos cut him off with another laugh. "If he is, I don't know it. I've never been to Starling City."

He didn't add: Not yet. Or that that trip's necessity seemed to be approaching faster and faster every day as of late.

XXX.

* * *

 _John Diggle' P.O.V_.

After watching Moira Queen watch as Malcolm Merlyn was loaded into the ambulance, his shell-shocked son trailing behind and hitching a ride (thereby escaping the detectives temporarily), John wasn't at all surprised by the destination the lady commanded as soon as the car was brought around. No, their destination was much less of a surprise than the fact that the Queen chauffer was actually able to bring the Rolls Royce round the block. Sure, Digg had _told_ Turner to go get the car earlier, but that was mostly to keep the man from getting in the way as he'd gotten Oliver's mother out of the building.

More than half the cop cars still had their lights flashing through the rain. All the other partygoers—what had to be a considerable majority of the city's elite—were huddled under the massive archway that cast imposing shadows during the day, but was shielding them from the rainfall now. All trapped there by both the rainfall that'd gotten worse over the last half hour and their own morbid fascination with watching whatever happened next on this shock-filled night. Nonetheless, the car that Moira Queen came here in tonight was brought around and parked curbside only a few minutes after the ambulances vacated their prime spots.

Then again, it wasn't likely that the S.C.P.D really wanted everyone to stay here. And Missus Queen's departure might very well trigger the exodus of all the other guests that hadn't really seen anything after they'd realized Merlyn's bodymen were shooting the waiters.

The Triad hitmen weren't really waiters, of course. The real, unfortunate catering staff had to be cold corpses somewhere—a possibility they should've anticipated, but didn't. To the rich crowd, though, it would've seemed like Merlyns' bodyguards were gunning down the waiters when the first shots were fired. If they were even _that_ observant once that initial realization that gunshots had been fired in the room had triggered their get-the-hell-outta-here auto-response.

If even one in five of them had any sort of fight response, for most that meant expecting their own armed guards to draw weapons. Those same guards might've noticed something useful while they were shepherding their clients out of the danger-zone, but the S.C.P.D knew they could trust reports from most of the reliable sorts later anyway, via whatever company they reported to. And it wasn't like the detectives couldn't backtrack through the guest list if they really wanted to.

What's more, the news crew covering Merlyn's acceptance of the award had cameras aimed at the building before Diggle was all the way outside himself. If there was anything visible from outside before the cops got here, they'd have gotten it. Not that there'd be much on that front, either; having been stuck outside watching said building with the comm-link in John's ear, he was sure of that. Staying where he was while listening to what was going on inside had been even harder than he'd expected, but his job was to keep Moira Queen safe so he'd had to trust that her son could take care of himself.

So the cops would probably prefer if most of the one-percenters just got out of their way. Thus a diplomatic reason for the Queen matriarch's car getting in and out without any trouble. And the lady wanted to go to the hospital, so they were driving there now.

Diggle had glanced at the speedometer more than once, and thought about telling Turner not to bother speeding. That hurry-up-and-wait when you were headed for a hospital without any need of medical attention—for yourself or someone with you—wasn't a generally great idea. Sometimes there was nowhere else you could be but the waiting room. In the practical sense though; there was no reason to crash your car to get to a room that might be floors away from the operation you wouldn't hear anything about anyway. Not until they wrapped everything up—unless the news was bad, of course. A very possible origin of the saying 'no news is good news.'

But Oliver's mother had barely been polite when she'd demanded their destination, and if Diggle noticed her terseness and the faint sound of her french-manicured fingernails tapping on the armrest, the man who'd been her personal driver for the past six years definitely had, too.

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

Leading to Ricky Turner checking the rearview mirror two or three times more than his norm and not paying attention to speed. Turner _was_ a professional driver though, and there was nothing dangerous about his driving right now. He was mostly within that 10 miles-per-hour window that still made radar guns contestable in court. And almost every cop on duty in Starling—plus every extra that'd probably been called in—had to be either at the building they'd just left or headed towards it.

Digg was more interested in the tapping of Moira Queen's fingers anyway. Mainly because he'd never seen her show such an obvious sign of nerves. Still hadn't, but he could hear the faint tap of her fingertips on the premium leather. Three fingers—probably pointer, index, ring—over and over again.

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

Nonstop since they'd pulled away from _Merlyn Tower_. A faint, steady triple-beat just on the edge of his hearing.

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

It was freaking Ricky Turner out.

For John Diggle, it was mostly just driving home what he couldn't help noticing earlier. That Moira Queen and the Chinese billionaire had been worried, but not panicked as they waited for something to happen. Neither one was all that good at feigning any surprise either. Not at not seeing flames or smoke to explain the fire alarms before the gunshots triggered a not-quite orderly rush for the exits, and not by any of the violence either. Like they'd been expecting it. All of it. Well, almost all. Both their brows had furrowed when the crowd outside had watched the vigilante smash into the building's skywalk.

Chinese mob. Chinese billionaire. **Maybe** not related?

When John was already suspicious of Moira Queen though, she and her friend were impossible not to notice tonight.

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

But there were also more than a few reasons The Hood had been able to find legitimate reasons to aim arrows at so many of the names on his dad's unexplained but all-important List. Here in Starling, corruption was really more the rule than the exception. Maybe it had been back when Digg was a kid, too, but at least people still helped each other out back then—now not so much. A statement Oliver had really hit him in the face with when he was talking about _why_ he'd become a vigilante.

Yes, John Diggle understood the emotional motivation behind Oliver's father's last request. He understood redemption, too. Both the deserved desire for it, and the decidedly not.

Oliver Queen had been one of the idle rich, five years ago. He'd spent his time screwing his life up, and sometimes other peoples' lives, too. Making many mistakes. Maybe many he's like to unmake, but that was the nature of a mistake: and in life there were no retakes. That didn't mean he'd made Starling City what it was. His dad supposedly had, but even Robert Queen had only been one piece in the broken puzzle.

Nonetheless, John had watched his own brother die. If The Hood hadn't stopped Deadshot months ago, he'd still be looking for him now. He'd have to, once he'd had the link of a name and an Interpol profile to associate with who'd been on the other side of that sniper rifle three years ago—and Oliver had handed him all that information without asking, after telling him he'd put an arrow in the man's eye. So he got how family mixed everything up. How friends could, too.

That's why he was trying to be the clear head here. Still, he couldn't deny that Starling City needed saving. Desperately.

And he wasn't the only one. That had to be why one of the city's best known reporters had seized onto the idea of the vigilante being a hero. Something her bosses surprisingly seemed to be okay to let her run with it. Then again, it must sell a _lot_ of papers. If there was one thing that'd always mattered in Starling, it was money.

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

Moira Queen could certainly afford a world-class assassin or two, or ten, if she wanted them. But why would she?

Why would she try to kill Malcolm Merlyn _now?_ Last John checked, the two of them were thick as thieves in whatever the hell was happening—or was going to happen—here in Starling City...

 _Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap..._

"Thank you, Ricky," the woman had regained most of her usual poise by the time they made it to _Starling General_ , although her tapping hadn't trailed off till the car came to a full stop. "Mister Diggle, thank you for your help, as well—"

"With all due respect, Missus Queen," John interrupted, polite but firm. A tone that he'd learned in the military, but used many times as a bodyguard. "You're here to visit a man that a whole bunch of professional hitmen just tried to murder. I'll stay close. At least until the cops have secured the hospital."

And they would. There were already a bunch of S.C.P.D cars parked all over the parking lot; most of them not legally, but the cops weren't going to write themselves tickets and the hospital wouldn't say 'boo' to them under the circumstances. Under almost any circumstances. Still, it worked for keeping an eye on her a little longer.

Her smile flickered a little—the worried twitch of her lips much smaller than Turner's almost full-body flinch—but then she nodded. "Perhaps you're right," she allowed, turning her soft smile to Turner. "Ricky, we won't be long, I think."

"I-I can't wait here, Missus Queen," the nervous man almost managed to hide his anxiety with a respectful smile, but the frazzled woman either didn't notice or pretended not to. "I'll be a minute away till you call." He didn't hesitate before he quickly added, "Or, I mean, if you want me to take a ticket—"

"That won't be necessary, Ricky, thank you," She reassured him then, her smile more gracious kindness than polite-cover now. "As I said, I won't be long."

"Yes ma'am."

Digg heard Ricky acknowledgment as he was shutting his door and headed for the back, opening an umbrella and holding it a bit over the car before he opened the rear passenger door so that the rain pitter-pattered off the umbrella rather than the regal woman's still mostly unruffled hairstyle.

"Thank you," Missus Queen acknowledged yet again as she accepted his hand to help her out, holding on just a little longer than she had any of the other times he'd done the same. Her palms weren't sweaty, and her grip was still that barely-there ladylike weight, but she did hold on a few whole seconds more than normal before she let his hand drop, waiting while he closed the door. Then she led the way inside at a steady, deliberately sedate pace, with him following barely a step behind; tilting the umbrella to completely cover her just-so with the ease of long practice.

Unlike Ricky Turner, John Diggle was a bodyguard. But on more than a few jobs that'd meant driver and everything that came with it. _Officially_ , he drove for Oliver, too. Now that the billionaire wasn't playing master escape-artist, that was mostly just for show: for _official_ drives. Still, Digg did have a lot of prior practice.

And it was helpful now. No one thought any more of the dripping umbrella he left at the front desk than they did of the gun strapped to his hip. Or the one on his ankle that most wouldn't notice. Some of the other equipment he had on him might give them pause, but he'd pulled the comm out of his ear and tucked it in his pocket before he'd even gotten into the car earlier.

Not that the Queen matriarch made it to the front desk. One of the hospital staff—Doctor Elina Dempsey, who's finer cut of clothes under her hospital coat all but screamed 'successful'—met Moira before she was halfway to said desk, eager to please by leading them to Malcolm Merlyn's private room herself. John'd had to hand the wet umbrella off and then lengthen his stride till he'd caught up with the two high-heeled women, following through the maze of hallways to the special section of _Starling General_ reserved for its wealthy donors—and anyone who could actually afford the exorbitant fees they charged for the rooms. In other words, _not_ anyone that actually thought about health insurance coverage when they needed medical attention, which these days pretty much meant only the one-percenters.

"—bullet was laced with poison," they heard Tommy explaining inside the room as they stopped outside of it.

Instead of going inside, Missus Queen stopped just before the doorway where she couldn't be seen from inside the room, sending the eager to please doctor away with a polite smile and a gesture of her hand that somehow didn't detract from her overall gracious manners.

Diggle immediately positioned himself with his back to the wall just behind her. Listening to what she was, too, but also looking around for any sign that maybe this hospital wasn't as safe as it should be.

He wasn't looking all that hard though. What few cops they hadn't left at _Merlyn Tower_ were apparently here. They'd passed them in the lobby and a pair at every checkpoint that their escort had breezed them past without any second glances. It wasn't like every one of those cops didn't recognize Missus Queen, and Diggle was obviously her bodyguard—even if it was only for the night.

"I should be dead," was Merlyn's weary and maybe a little shocked response to his son's worried words.

It was surprising that the man was already awake again. Oliver really was a rarity when it came to most of the idle rich's reactions to violence and pain. Then again, the C.E.O of _Merlyn Global_ , from what Digg had seen of him, had never been a man anyone could describe as 'idle.' And if Moira Queen was involved in something shady, odds were Malcolm Merlyn was, too. Whether she really had tried to kill him tonight or not.

With that thought, Diggle took out one of the other devices in his coat pockets, flicking it on and holding it in the suit pocket closest to the door, mostly hidden that way, with the receiver pointed right at the open doorway. Because off-limits didn't mean that he'd just stopped suspecting her, so grabbing a few of these sort of tools had seemed like a wise idea before he'd headed out of the Foundry tonight. And Malcolm Merlyn was the one he'd caught her talking to last time.

Though he couldn't use any of these devices without wondering. With everything from Oliver's odd clarification for their comm system to how he checked everything over before it could be used, Digg had to wonder where exactly the billionaire had gotten all the equipment. _Someone_ had outfitted the vigilante with all the gear he could possibly need, and the setup struck the former soldier as much more military-like than Russian mob. Well, not the minimalistic lair itself; that even the ex-soldier was sometimes surprised by, and had watched Felicity Smoak wince at every now and again. No, not the basement, but the gear itself? A lot of it was much more advanced than most of the equipment Diggle made due with back in Afghanistan; clearly cutting edge. Then again Oliver was a multi-billionaire, so he could afford it. Who'd he buy from though, that had him clarifying that their communications were 'secure, but we'll need to talk in code'?

"I gave you a blood transfusion," Tommy was confessing inside the room, his voice was almost too quiet to be heard in the hall.

So Diggle turned his receiver up to max volume. It'd generate a lot of static that way and catch a whole lot of background noise, too—even _Starling General_ 's 'special floor' was a hectic place, but it was important that he record anything that was said here.

It was the only thing that might make Oliver listen to what Diggle reported back, at least when his family and friends were involved. Maybe. It'd worked before; until pointing an arrow at his mother had done more damage to Oliver's psyche than her shooting him had.

"Actually, it was the Vigilante's idea." Tommy told his father. "He saved you."

"He did?" Merlyn sounded only a little surprised, but then again he also sounded exhausted. Understandably, all things considered. And he was probably pumped full of all sorts of good stuff right now. On top of the bullets being poisoned: Deadshot's signature open to a copycat—maybe many copycats with various poisons—since the most infamous sniper was gone.

"I was worried I was going to lose you," was Tommy's heartfelt answer.

Out of the corner of his eye Digg saw Moira Queen's flinch. He would have even if he wasn't suspicious of her; her entire upper body recoiled with the motion as if struck, too noticeable to miss even as she drew herself back under control, posture re-straightening and elegant hands folding in front of her again as they continued listening.

The lady herself had forgotten Diggle was there; that was why he was the perfect man for this. Oliver's mother was nowhere near as oblivious as most, but she wasn't her son—or Malcolm Merlyn, it occurred to Diggle, as he remembered that evaluating glance the man had given him before dismissing his presence along with every other 'servant' at the event tonight. Leading to him not noticing the catering staff—but then again Digg hadn't really spotted them till it was almost too late: and _he'd_ been _looking_ for potential Triad hitmen.

"I'm not going anywhere," Merlyn reassured his son, calmly resolute, but not enough for that son.

"That's what you said after mom died," Tommy's objection was laced with a lifetime of hurt feelings, the likes of which only a childhood trauma could permanently engrave in the psyche. His father abandoning him shortly after his mother's murder qualified. "But _you_ _**left**_."

Merlyn didn't answer right away, and even if he _was_ responsible for... whatever the hell Robert Queen had wanted his own son to stop, Diggle did feel a little bad for both the father and son in there right now.

"I wasn't a very good father to you after your mother passed away," the man finally sighed. "I was _so lost_."

Maybe Tommy's second of hesitation was just obvious because Diggle—and Moira Queen—were hanging on every word coming out of that room, but when he continued there was a just-audible note of hope in his voice. "You never told me where you went."

Merlyn's pause was even more palpable, lingering inside that room and washing outwards as Diggle watched his employer's mother lean forward a little.

Making the bodyguard contemplate if Oliver might be at least a little right. If his mother didn't know quite as much as it'd sometimes seemed she did. Though that was assuming Malcolm Merlyn was involved in whatever the reason for The List's existence was. His name wasn't on The List, but Moira Queen's wasn't either. That their 'undertaking' involved 'usual threats' smacked of shady dealings of some sort, but it could still just be unfortunately usual business in Starling City, not some big conspiracy or disaster-in-the-making.

"I found myself in a place called Nanda Parbat," Merlyn finally went on while Diggle blinked.

Where had he heard that name before?

"I met a man there. He helped me make sense of things." Merlyn continued, some of that drug-and-bullet-induced tiredness fading under the influence of the poignant past he was explaining. "He helped me find a purpose for my life; to make this city a better place for everyone. _Especially_ for you."

"How are you going to do that?" Tommy wasn't even trying to hide his skepticism. But then again he'd had almost as many doubts towards Oliver's ideas of helping in the Glades as Diggle had.

Tommy had even spoken more openly about it, back in the beginning: before it became his life goal and first job all in a neatly tied bow. Still, the free-clinic his mother had founded before her death remained the main exception to Tommy's cautious distrust towards the area of the city she'd been killed in. Peculiar, maybe, since Rebecca Merlyn was murdered right outside that same clinic, but then again sentiment didn't always (or even often) make sense.

Sentiment also tied to the other Glades location Tommy Merlyn had frequented prior to agreeing to open a club in the Glades with Oliver, but the _City Necessary Resources Initiative_ was fiercely protected by the police, so his trust in that location was more understanding. If Merlyn had actually noticed all the extra S.C.P.D patrols along with just how often officers stopped by there, Diggle couldn't say, anymore than he could guess at whether there'd been a 'coincidental' increase in police interest there after Laurel Lance took one of their desks, courtesy of her not unwise father. Still, it was probably something Tommy Merlyn had noticed, at least subconsciously, and may even have something to do with the rather heavy-duty security team he'd asked Diggle to help him work up for the night club.

A good security force at the soon-to-be-opened nightspot wouldn't hurt anyway—not when they'd never give Oliver or Diggle a second glance, and most might overlook Felicity too once they got used to her (especially if she was the boss's girlfriend by then). Oliver not caring about profit didn't hurt in that regard, either, but given that the club was in the Glades noticeably good security might actually _help_ profits, not hurt them.

Apparently Moira was done listening then though, because she'd stepped forward as soon as she heard Tommy's question. "Malcolm?"

If she was culpable for any of what'd happened tonight, she was a damn good actress. Digg's side-view of her face was a mask of concern as she looked into the hospital room.

"Tommy," Merlyn's voice became firmer at her presence, less willing to show weakness in front of her then he was to his son, even if that same son was the one he was still talking to. "Could I talk to Moira for a minute?"

Digg heard no verbal response from Tommy Merlyn, but there was movement inside the room. Then the billionaire's maybe-no-longer cut-off heir was stopping in the doorway to accept a kiss on the cheek from his best friend's mother, before dutifully departing the room.

Diggle moved, sidestepping just a bit closer to the door, angling his pocket closer to the room with his back still to the wall. Hopefully helping the recording be clearer, since it was that step closer—he couldn't get any closer than where Moira Queen had been standing without being seen from inside the room, and he couldn't take out the magnifier in the very busy hallway.

Tommy visibly startled as he noticed the ex-soldier then, having walked a few steps right past him. He was frowning as he looked around. Then he looked back at the bodyguard, clearly wondering where his best friend was, but didn't say anything when Diggle shook his head.

"Thank God you're all right," they both heard Moira Queen say, and Diggle watched Tommy glanced back towards the room he'd just exited, his eyebrows colliding as he realized the bodyguard was eavesdropping on the two inside. His father and the woman that was like a second mother to the man that'd likely felt like an abandoned orphan more than once growing up after his mom's murder.

More surprisingly, though, Tommy didn't protest. Possibly because he heard his father's much stronger sounding voice then, too.

"We have a traitor in our midst," Malcolm Merlyn declared, all weariness and sorrow given way to grave authority. "I

want you to find out who. He just made his last mistake."

It was hard to be happy at the condemning recording. Not when Diggle already had a recording of the two that was just as bad saved back at the Foundry. And not when the words made the man's son's face screw up in shocked confusion so complete it was painful to see.

So Oliver coming around the corner down the hall could've been a relief, if it hadn't also made Tommy lock up as soon as Diggle directed attention to him. Tommy moved further away from the doorway though, with Oliver meeting him just far enough away for the Diggle not to hear them. Still, the ex-soldier found himself watching the two younger men closely.

That first long moment of stony silence after Tommy went and met Oliver halfway down the hall spoke volumes that all said Felicity had been very, very right to start that sudden radio silence radio silence not too long—but at least one very key conversation—ago.

 _Tommy_ _**knew**_.

Of course he did. Why else would he accept the vigilante's help? Even if 'The Hood' _had_ saved him from kidnappers a few months back, and his girlfriend's life only a few weeks ago.

It was yet another complication in the mess that made up the billionaire-vigilante's whole life. Meaning that all Diggle could hope was that this complication might be one of those rare few that were helpful.

His father's near-death seemed to have made Tommy willing to forgive him a lot. But hopefully that didn't mean he'd automatically start backing Oliver up on their remaining single parents being off-limits. Whether one of the two was trying to kill the other or not—John Diggle was _not_ looking forward to that discussion with only Oliver. He couldn't think of any way that adding Tommy Merlyn's own precious cents to that talk could help at all.

"I am...uncertain as to where to start," Missus Queen's admission drew Digg's ears back to eavesdropping.

Her wavering voice made Diggle want to believe she was innocent of any major wrongdoings. For Oliver's sake, and now Tommy's, he wished Missus Queen and Mister Merlyn were no more than they wanted the world to think they were.

"Have any of our associates indicated..."

"This traitor is more subtle than many of the others were," Malcolm Merlyn replied, continuing a moment later, coolly analytical; the opposite to Moira Queen's tremulous trail-offs. "The hitmen were Triad. The Chinese Mafia. A few of our associates have ties to them."

But wishing _didn't_ make it so. Were it anyone else, save a few, Oliver would be willing to admit that. His mother, however, was one of those few. Along with his sister. Felicity at this point, whether she and Oliver started officially dating or not. Laurel and Tommy, too, of course. Probably even John Diggle himself, when he wasn't 'threatening' the others on that very select list.

As if their lives weren't yet complicated enough.

"I can start asking questions, though it may take some time," Moira agreed, that same hesitation still in her voice, clearly a little as she started, "The man that shot you—"

"The sniper was a professional. One Tempest has hired before. It was my understanding he'd retired after his last encounter with the vigilante."

That almost sounded like Merlyn thought the shooter _was_ Deadshot, but he was dead. How many professional assassins had crossed off his father's List in the short weeks he'd been working alone?

"Do you want me to—"

"No." Merlyn cut her off then. "He'll be long gone; ahead of all the roadblocks various law enforcement agencies will have up by now. But I have no interest in the people paid to kill me, Moira. Only those who dared to hire them."

That last part would sound completely reasonable if Diggle hadn't heard a more suspicious conversation a few weeks ago. And if the sheer coldness in the wounded C.E.O's voice didn't remind the ex-soldier of some of his fellows back in Afghanistan; specifically the ones like Paul Knox that he'd never been able to completely trust. Of course, maybe the un-trustable Knoxs were better than the friends he'd trusted and learned later he shouldn't have, but Ted Gaynor did have his back, back in the 'Stan, it was only back home he'd proven he'd changed. Then again, he had said that people changed, and that they should have the chance to prove it...

It wasn't even a minute before Oliver's conversation with his friend was over and Tommy was walking away. The crestfallen resignation on the self-uncovered vigilante's face as he turned to watch his friend walk away told the bodyguard that talk hadn't gone well at all.

"Very well," Moira agreed, and even though she followed her agreement up with questions regarding Merlyn's well-being, Diggle deliberately moved away.

It wouldn't do to have the Queen matriarch realize he'd been close enough to hear her entire conversation the whole time. Not when their 'Tempest'—whatever _that_ was—had hired high-end assassins 'before.' There were more than enough complications all around without _that_ happening.

Complications upon complications. All too many unknowns.

Diggle didn't do complicated or uncertainty very well. He could handle problems, most of the time, but he preferred simplicity. _This_ is _the_ _mission_. _This_ is the _next_ _objective_. _There's_ the enemy. _These_ are _your orders_. It was what'd made the army perfect for him.

War wasn't _uncomplicated_ , of course, but the day-to-day was very rarely all that different from what you came to expect. Firefights and actual battles came with their own unpleasant surprises, just like patrols and escorts sometimes did, but they were still expected parts of the job, and after a while even most shootouts could be kind of routine.

Maybe some stupid part of John Diggle missed that mix of predictable and surprising. That could be why Oliver Queen had fascinated him earlier on. Part of it, at first, was wounded pride; that some spoiled rich kid kept escaping somehow. And Digg didn't like the similarity that drew between him and the son-of-a-bitch his S.O had become, but that didn't mean he didn't recognize it. But part of it was sympathy for the unusual circumstances surrounding the kid, too. That all gave way pretty quickly to everything he noticed about _him_.

That the returned-from-the-dead billionaire reminded him of more than a few of his fellow soldiers when they'd come home from the war. An observation that made more sense when he discovered Oliver's secret, but still had him wondering where the younger man had really been all those years. Because you didn't learn to fight anywhere near his level of expertise on just any island, whether it wasn't deserted or not.

Never mind all the spy gear they were using but had to be careful of if it broadcasted. Because someone—not the S.C.P.D, but _someone_ —could very well be listening to it. And that wasn't the first time something his vigilante partner had said something similar.

John had watched him, more than once, take apart any new piece of equipment that wasn't already setup on his 'ready-to-go' wracks for weapons or the cupboards and drawers his other supplies were kept in. Oliver called it an armory—Diggle didn't, it wasn't nearly organized enough for the term, even if it did hold a lot of weapons. And tech in general, even before they officially brought Felicity in a little while back.

He'd made a point of going through the equipment he knew himself, checking it out like Oliver wanted, then trying to store it in a more organized manner. He hadn't talked himself into actually organizing everything though; he wasn't a maid, after all.

Then again, Felicity wasn't either, and if she did start fixing everything—as the frowns and looks she'd sent around the Foundry basement more than once indicated she might—Diggle would have to help her. Oliver would try, too. Probably. But Diggle couldn't bring himself to completely abandon their tech girl to the vigilante's ideas of organizing. Those ideas were one of the very few remaining windows into Oliver's platinum spoon childhood, after all, just like the times he was really talking with his sister or the real grins he'd sometimes exchanged with his childhood best friend.

All of them wanted to help Starling City, yes, but that was complicated by more than just their different ideas of how it could and should be done. Though those differences had had them clashing more than once.

The complications were even harder for Oliver Queen though. They weren't literal obstacles he could acrobatically avoid or villains he could put arrows in. And he might just be worse about seeing the big picture than Diggle was. All the same, Diggle wasn't entirely sure even he was seeing everything here.

Felicity coming on and saying some of the same things Digg had already tried had helped. The I.T girl herself had helped a lot more than they could've ever expected her to. Not just with the tech—but with the atmosphere in that dark basement. Her easy acceptance and sincere desire to help was like a balm to both of them that didn't go away when the sharper side of her tongue slipped out. It'd taken everything the ex-soldier had in him to only smirk when she asked Oliver why he couldn't try to do **real** good in the city, and he'd very nearly laughed when she called the all-important list 'your **notebook**.'

How much more Felicity saw, Diggle couldn't say, but he suspected it was a lot. Not because she was a woman; he'd known more than a few men who seemed to see everything. She _was_ a genius, though, and it was obvious her brilliant mind extended far beyond just her computers.

Lyla was always better at seeing each little bit of the big picture in its own place. That was why she'd gone on to ARGUS after coming home. Well, that and their divorce. With Digg's stupid escape being back on another tour, hers had to be somewhere else. A part of him might've hoped she'd follow him back to the warzone: where their marriage had somehow worked, but he hadn't expected it.

But Digg knew that Oliver definitely wasn't seeing a picture. The vigilante saw targets. That List was a perfect representation of the archer's narrow view outside of combat. His idea of the next mission or objective didn't seem to specifically include intell, maps, reconnaissance, or even much planning most of the time. Mostly it was just one name, and then another one once that one was crossed off.

The part of John Diggle that'd already started thinking of the archer as a brother-in-arms—ironically slammed home hard when Felicity ran into the Foundry covered in Oliver's blood—didn't want to keep suspecting Moira Queen of... whatever the hell she was involved in. He wanted to drop it, wanted to respect Oliver's wishes in the matter.

 _Involved in_ _ **what?**_ _We don't even know was '_ _ **it**_ _'_ _ **is**_ _. And until we do, she is_ _ **off**_ _ **limits!**_

But John knew better. As he'd said to Oliver that same night, it was obvious his mother was involved in whatever was happening. ' _The Undertaking_ ,' as she called it on the recording he still had two copies of—one stored in his safe-deposit box just in case Oliver suffered a moment of even stronger sonly sentiment and tossed the copy Diggle had given him.

Which Felicity still hadn't heard yet, come to think of it. Definitely something to consider. Both because of her considerable skill-set and the simple fact that she had much more influence on Oliver Queen than his bodyguard/first-partner-in-crime could claim. _That_ , Diggle had noticed the first time he met her. Even with Queen trying to play up the playboy charm that didn't come entirely natural to him anymore, his smiles around her had been more sincere than not.

Oliver wasn't smiling now as he met his partner's gaze only when he was a few steps away. "She's okay?"

"She's fine," Diggle confirmed immediately, before nodding after the direction Tommy Merlyn had wandered off. "He didn't look so hot."

"His dad just got shot," Oliver pointed out, pausing a moment before he admitted. "And he knows."

"Uh-huh," he replied flatly.

"I had to tell him," the vigilante insisted quietly. "It was the only way he'd let me help."

"Uh-huh," Diggle acknowledged just as flatly, but then he nodded. "Good thing Felicity realized that, too."

Oliver blinked, frowning slightly. "Yeah. But I would've—"

"But you didn't have to," Digg deliberately interrupted him. "It's good that she can pre-empt that sort of thing. Usually takes a lot more training than the manual of codes you handed her."

"Which she probably hasn't read yet," Oliver nodded, warming up to the easier topic rapidly. "But she was good at it." He surprised his fake-bodyguard by rolling his eyes, till he said, "She could've picked a better setting for the voice changer."

Diggle snorted, "That was probably the easiest one to find; and you can't say James Earl Jones voice didn't fit the only parameters you gave her—deep and male." He smirked as he added, "At least she didn't add the Vader breathing, too."

The vigilante shook his head, "If it's the easiest to find, it won't be too difficult to undo and—"

"Doesn't work that way, man," Diggle interrupted him again, shrugging and shaking his head. "Sure, anyone listening will know that the voice is fake, but they'll have no way of knowing what the real voice sounds like. They might trying reversing it—but they'd be starting with the copy. With no way to know for sure what the original voice would sound like as a starting point."

It was what Oliver needed to hear; just a little of the tension in his shoulders slid away. "And they'll be focusing on men, not women."

Diggle couldn't say he blamed him.

The click of heels exiting the room just a few feet behind him made the bodyguard turn to watch Moira Queen come back out into the hallway, and he watched as Oliver moved around him to meet her only a little closer to the room.

"Tommy said Mister Merlyn's going to be okay?"

Just the right of note of hesitation at the end there turned the statement into a question, and made a motherly smile make an appearance now, though it was edged with worry and fatigue.

"Yes, he'll be fine, Oliver," Missus Queen glanced around. "Where is Tommy?"

"He went to get coffee," her son replied evenly. "And call Laurel, I think."

"Of course," Moira nodded understandingly, sighing softly, before reaching up to tug her son's face down just far enough to press a kiss to his cheek like she had his friend's earlier.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Oliver went on, not looking his direction as he added. "Digg said you weren't hurt, but—"

"I'm fine, Oliver," his mother interrupted evenly. Her hand, having slid down to his shoulder after the greeting, tightened a little as she sighed. "Just tired. I'm headed home to bed now." She looked at Digg then. "I already called Ricky, Mister Diggle. He will be waiting outside for me, so you—"

"He'll have to ride home with you, Mom." Oliver interrupted her with a shrug. "I came in on my bike."

Again, Diggle had to feel bad for the Queen matriarch as she flinched again. It wasn't too long ago that they'd used a motorcycle accident as a cover for when the Dark Archer had nearly killed her son. The best cover they could think of for all his injuries that night—fortunately it'd been enough to keep even Lance from looking at him. Then again, there was no way of knowing for sure if it'd worked for the one man that could recognize his injuries; the one who'd almost killed him. The only reassurance they had there was that the lack of a later attack by the Dark Archer seemed to indicate they'd lucked out there too.

"Of course you did," she sighed softly, then reached her hand up to cup his jaw as she met his eyes. "Please be careful on that thing, Oliver." She said 'thing' like she meant 'monstrosity,' because that's exactly what she meant.

"I am, Mom," Oliver tried to assure her, undoubtedly wishing Diggle had come up with some other excuse for all his injuries last December, but it wasn't like he'd had a lot of time to come up with a better cover. "And I'll be right behind you," he added. "I have to stop at home before I head into the club."

Missus Queen's frown returned as her hand fell from his face. "Oliver, your club isn't even open yet."

"Yeah, but testing the lighting's better at night," he affected a playful shrug that almost sold the fake playboy grin. "That's when it'll be important; it _is_ night club."

It wasn't something that pleased the vigilante's mother. She was tapping her fingers on the armrest almost all the way back to the mansion—now in tandem with glancing behind to watch Oliver on his motorcycle more than a few times on the way back. So, Ricky Turner, of course, was doing that more than enough for all of them as he tried to feign indifference to his employer's tapping. Her worried exhaustion wasn't at all helped by her daughter greeting them, eyes wide with panic but thankfully not drunk or high when they arrived there.

So Oliver's reaction to the recording Diggle presented in the Foundry less than an hour after that wasn't at all a shock.

Even more unfortunately? It wasn't the only one.

XXX.

* * *

 _Felicity Smoak's P.O.V._

Felicity hadn't let herself regret cutting communications immediately. She'd known it was the right—no, the only thing to do... but it wasn't long before the silence grated. Even typing was hard, especially once she'd accepted why.

It was the absence of all the other sounds that'd filled the vacuum of this chilly basement a few hours before. Turning on the local news didn't help, anymore than the random burst of chatter from the S.C.P.D's radio frequency did. They weren't watching as everything went down earlier. They weren't expecting it; weren't trying to prevent it.

They weren't Oliver. Or Digg.

It was too late for even the construction upstairs to fill the void. An odd thought since _that_ had irritated Felicity enough her first day here that she'd hacked Oliver's email to change the club's plans: to insure the inclusion of superior sound-proofing in the flooring as well as the walls, tacking on a note about it being friendlier to the community even though no one really lived close enough to care too much and it wasn't the sort of thing most club owners would worry about. This was the Glades, but the old Queen Steel Factory that these buildings had been was just on the edge of the rundown area, almost part of the warehouse district, save for the few buildings that'd come up around it after steel stopped coming out. With the email coming from Oliver Queen, though, it hadn't been questioned. At least she thought that was why he'd never commented on it himself, but then again he seemed surprised every time he realized just how far she could get into every technological aspect of his life she wanted to... surprised, but thankfully he didn't mind. All of this would be so much more complicated, and awkward, if he did.

It wasn't that she missed watching the extreme exercise. Well, no: she did. The appeal of watching Oliver's marvelous climbs up that ladder had taken her entirely by surprise at first. She would've been caught staring a lot more if not for her fear that that gorgeous man was going to hurt himself—since he'd started 'getting back into shape' before Diggle was even willing to consider taking the stitches out of his previously life-threatening gunshot wound. As it was, she was mostly able to reign in her libido and thus her eyes to frequent glances she didn't try to hide all that much once she'd realized Oliver appreciated her appreciation.

But the lack of clanging climbing, the grunts and thuds of sparring or assaults on training equipment wasn't the problem. It was Oliver's absence.

Not so much Digg's. He hadn't been in her ear till she'd shut him down, and the slightly safer role the bodyguard had been playing—bodyguard to someone who shouldn't be a target—meant there was much less reason to worry for him.

Of course, Felicity knew herself well enough to recognize that she'd worry more about the vigilante anyway. Even if there weren't _so_ many, many reasons to worry. It scared her just a little bit how important Oliver Queen felt to her already. More than the inferno of attraction she felt from the moment she met him, or the overall fondness his smile had kindled even amongst the surprise, nervousness, and trying-not-to-be-suspicious confusion that'd followed in that meeting. In _every_ one of their meetings...

That attraction had never gone away despite everything about him that didn't make sense—until it mostly did; which was still only 'mostly' after he'd pulled back his Hood and proven her suspicions correct. Even now it was only mostly. There was still so much she didn't know, too many missing pieces in the person puzzle that was Oliver Queen and the vigilante.

Actually, given all Felicity didn't know about him, how fast her heart trusted Oliver every step of that scene, and since, should scare her a lot more than it did. Especially considering her last attempt at love. But these feelings _felt right_. None of her nerves, she knew deep down, were tied to the man she was worrying about now at all. They were the emotional scars that smoke and fire couldn't leave on an Immortal when the full-power of a Quickening was brought to bear upon them by a death.

Such thoughts didn't make the empty basement feel any better. Anymore than a lot of noise would, but some noise would be reassuring. That is, noises other than the rats that thankfully weren't brave enough to skitter out of the walls when the lights were on.

 _Rat poison_ , Felicity reminded herself, thumbing a quick note into her phone because she'd forgotten it twice already.

The little critters had never really bothered her before she found out they _had_ been the primary carriers of the plague. Sickness couldn't kill her, of course, but she'd had to bury far too many before their time due to epidemics sweeping through; and for those she held dear, _their time_ was too soon as it was. So she disliked rats enough to put poison out for them. She was still more reasonable in her dislike than Henry Jones. Her student suffered from an "intolerable" phobia of "the little monsters," despising them so much he'd actually draw his sword and hunt them with it if he heard one. At least he still that did when she saw him a couple decades ago, so she doubted he'd outgrown it. Not when his first death had occurred during riots that'd mostly resulted from the outbreak of the Black Death in northern Europe...

Hardly relevant, but the sort of wandering her thoughts did when they had nothing to focus on.

Felicity had already done everything she could here.

She'd copied the security footage from _Merlyn Global_ as it was happening, of course, so all she'd had to do afterwards was cleanup. Back-trace her route out so that she wasn't leaving a trail, while her RAT—computer remote access trojan, of course—went dormant till it was needed again. Which was _so_ much creepier sounding in conjuncture with thoughts about her own brushes with the Black Plague and the rodents blamed for them...

It wasn't long after cutting communications that her search for the sniper had gotten a hit. Deadshot. Once an infamous international assassin, he was downgraded to a lower level threat by Interpol when they thought he might be out of business—A.K.A maybe dead—after his last visit to Starling City and subsequent encounter with the local 'Vigilante called 'The Hood,' which was the _actual_ title of their relatively useless file on Oliver's alter-ego. Obviously they were wrong. Then again, they didn't even have Floyd Lawton's _name_ —her search program found _that_ on the Oliver's hard drive, undoubtedly gained by even less legal means than her hacking.

Felicity had tracked Lawton to the train he boarded at 10:15 and tipped Interpol and the F.B.I off, but even with the feds help the international organization couldn't cope with Blüdhaven. It was one of the few cities in the world with more rampant corruption than Starling City, because there almost all the cops were bad, too. Lawton slipped off the train there, and out of range of any cameras she could command, nearly a half hour before there was any law enforcement presence at all.

She had been debating calling Oliver via the cellphone that was hopefully more secure than his 'sort of secure' gear ever since then. She shouldn't though: initiating communication could distract him at just the wrong instant and get him hurt or worse.

As a result, her phone was over on top of the sparring dummy; a deliberately difficult reach for her if she wasn't sure about retrieving it or not. She'd have to walk all the way over there and climb up on top of it again. Quite a refresher course in agility, since touching the thing essentially made it attack you. So hopefully no one else called her... Felicity glared over at the device for good measure, daring it to make a sound that wasn't either Oliver or Diggle's ringtone.

Which meant she was again also looking straight at the Wing Chun dummy that Digg had been wailing on earlier. It was undoubtedly an effective training tool; teaching you how to react to both multiple assaults from an assailant and their follow-ups. Personally, she'd always found them rather boring. At the very least it should have a face that was glaring at you... then again Oliver shot arrows at bouncing tennis balls and cement walls, not even bull's eyes, let alone targets bearing hated faces. Even Diggle would probably think a scowling dummy was silly—but this basement needed _something_ to make it livable. Her computers and Felicity by herself could only do so much...

Especially when Oliver and Diggle weren't even here _or_ in her ear. When all Felicity could do was wait.

Something an ancient Immortal should theoretically be good at, but Felicitas never had been. Not when it waiting to hear if various armies had won the wars she'd needed won, whether her husband, lover or just friends were fighting. _That_ waiting had eventually led to her joining the Amazons, of course, but it hadn't really helped. Because there would still always be times when she couldn't be there, when she had to wait, and patience remained quite beyond her as long as she wasn't sure if someone she cared about was safe or not.

 _Beep-Beep-Beep._

"Oh thank god," Felicity muttered when the soft warning her computer made was triggered by the proper passcode being punched in for access through the outer door. (The warning sound it made when the wrong code was entered, or basically anyone tried to enter without that proper clearance, was much louder and a lot more persistent.) The sight of both men on the outer camera as they walked in made her sag into her chair with relief, before turning to stand and face them as they came in like they hadn't just been out risking their lives tonight. "You're okay!"

Both men paused to stare at her for a second, before carrying on. Oliver setting the bag he had all of his vigilante-gear stored away in down on the counter near the display of arrows where he'd loaded up previously. Diggle took a seat, shaking his head. Her honest display of relief, however, had made both of them relax just a little—so she counted it as more of a win than an embarrassment.

"So?" Felicity asked, tilting her head to catch Oliver's eyes even as he turned to look at her again. "Is Mister Merlyn okay, too?" She knew he'd made it to the hospital and been admitted there, of course, but there wasn't much more than that available electronically yet. Not until his doctors filed their reports as the end of their shift.

"They took him to Starling General, sounds like he'll be fine," Diggle answered, then added. "Good thing he was wearing a bulletproof vest."

Actually, that'd seem odd to her Felicity, and she'd watched the businessman take down two Triad hitmen in a couple of seconds just a little while ago. But the vigilante's stiffening spine stopped her from saying something right away. Instead, she watched the softness that her honest concern had put on his face a second ago melt away as he looked at the bodyguard.

"He's not in the hospital because he was shot."

"Yeah, I heard that part at the hospital," Diggle answered evenly, but his eyes were narrow as he, too, wondered what it was about that that'd bothered Oliver so much. "Someone's taken over Lawton's M.O."

Felicity blinked, looking rapidly between the two of them as she realized exactly where this was going. Interpol had downgraded Deadshot after his last trip to Starling City because they thought the vigilante had killed him. Obviously Oliver and Diggle had thought the same... till now.

And didn't _that_ hold the potential of some more unexpected problems? Damn it.

Felicity bit her lip before it could frown or grimace.

 _Surely_ Lawton couldn't be _another_ Immortal? At this rate, _that_ would make Starling City look like a potential Gathering place for that stupid Game! And if the Watchers noticed that, she wouldn't only be avoiding them; her concerned big brother would be on the first plane here—wanting them both of them out of this city in short order.

"No, Digg," Oliver shook his head, his seriousness making her refocus on him rather than the chance of a future that really shouldn't be likely. "He was poisoned with _curare_. That is Deadshot's unique M.O."

It was rather unique, Felicity thought as she kept looking between the two of them as a silent observer. She'd heard of curare used as a coating for darts or arrows: notably to deadly affect in South America. But how did that work with a sniper's bullets? Did he coat the bullets with the viscid paste or soak them in the more syrupy tar? Wouldn't either one do at least some damage to any rifle? Let alone the ones that snipers' needed for their lethal accuracy?

"Unique..." Diggle paused, his whole body stilling with the thought, then he sighed heavily. "Lawton's alive?"

Oliver nodded, "I'm sorry, John."

The bodyguard nodded back, his whole body seeming to sag just a little with the motion, as if gravity had inexplicably multiplied the weight it was bringing to bear against all his military training and it was only by sheer force of will that even his very muscular self was still standing.

Felicity swallowed, the part of her that always thought she'd seen too much of everything bad the world could offer wanting to shy away from whatever it was that made both of these strong men like silent shadows. But that wouldn't do anyone any good. "He took a train to Blüdhaven," she spoke up, continuing softly as both of their gazes shot back to her. "I tried tipping off Interpol, but he was gone long before they got there."

Oliver's heavy expression shifted a little with confusion, "How did you..." he trailed off, as if not sure what he was asking.

So she just shrugged and offered the most simplified explanation she could. "I had a program running local camera footage through facial recognition for known snipers."

"He wasn't even _in_ the building," Oliver objected, brow furrowed.

"No, but he walked by an A.T.M a block away as he was leaving," Felicity shook her head. "I had the software running, still, but no one else popped, so I kept tracking him to the train station, with traffic cameras mostly."

Both men were staring at her, looking shocked—like Oliver did every time she pulled off some technological marvel. Digg had some surprise, too; mixing with that heavy maelstrom of misery that'd been stirred up by the news of Deadshot being...well, not dead.

Then again, if Felicity hadn't borrowed the F.B.I's facial recognition software not long after its initial creation to create her own program that allowed for those sort of fine-tuned details—the sorts of things you needed to track other Immortals by—and if it wasn't something she kept up-to-date and active in correlation to both information in the Watchers' Database and her home city's public cameras, as well as some other places, she wouldn't have been able to deploy it so quickly for this slightly altered purpose. At least not nearly quickly enough to catch the sniper leaving in real time. It was exactly the sort of thing she'd designed it for though; keeping an eye out for particularly dangerous Immortals, or finding specific ones when she wanted to. But it _was_ one of the technological weapons in her extensive arsenal, so she'd used it here...

"That's impressive," Digg complimented, more quietly than he might've before learning this particular assassin wasn't dead had so shocked him for some vital reason she hadn't yet been told. He shook his head, "But Blüdhaven's the closest place to disappear. The cops there'd be no help to Interpol."

"There's not much modern surveillance either," Felicity agreed apologetically; seeing there was a reason to apologize here, even if she didn't yet know what it was. "I'm sorry," she tacked on afterwards, because the weight that still seemed to be settling in Diggle's shoulders hurt her to see.

"Don't be," the ex-soldier shook his head. "You were amazing tonight, Felicity. With everything."

"He's right," Oliver agreed, but his eyes were still on the other man even though he was talking to her. "And it was a good call to mute my line when I was talking to Tommy."

"Thought it might be," Felicity agreed, still watching both men even as she asked carefully. "How'd he take it?"

Diggle snorted, even with his shoulders still straining against the weight of the world.

Oliver's face fell only a little, but she still saw it.

"That well, huh?" she pursed her lips for a second.

Revealing secrets of any kind could always get messy all too easily. They tended to tie too tightly to emotions that way. Trust and betrayal were like yin and yang; divided by that same thin line between love and hate. Unfortunately, that first shock was sometimes hard not to choke on. Sometimes the act of trust in revealing a secret couldn't keep one from feeling the prior keeping of it still felt like a betrayal. That engendered sense of duplicity was often undeserved in such circumstances, but Tommy Merlyn had been through a lot tonight, so a particularly reasonable response wasn't a practical hope to have. Hopefully, however, it wasn't a problem going forward... they had _more_ than enough of those anyway.

Felicity shook her head. "Well, I haven't heard anything about the S.C.P.D heading here or to Queen Manor looking for you, so he probably just needs some time. He _did_ have a lot of surprises tonight."

Oliver's frown deepened just enough to be noticeable as he glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

"Not everyone's used to getting shot at, Oliver," Diggle spoke up before she could. "Civilians aren't supposed to be. Sounded like he saw both that cop and the guards go down." He shook his head, "Didn't hear anything about them."

"Both were on their way to the hospital with Lieutenant Pike before SWAT had made it to the executive floor," Felicity answered the implied inquiry. "One of them, Mister McDowell, was still touch and go last I checked, but Lieutenant Pike and Mister Wade are definitely going to be fine." She glanced at the bottom corner of her computer for the time, "McDowell was going into surgery about an hour ago."

When she turned back to the two men, she was happy to see a little relief lift some small amount of the weight of the world off their shoulders with the recognition that they hadn't gone all wrong tonight. They _had_ managed to save some lives.

"That's good," Oliver approved, giving her a nod before he looked back at his pseudo-bodyguard. "Digg, I'll understand if you want some time to—"

"Thanks, man," Diggle stopped him, shaking his head slowly. "But I've got something, too." And he reached into one of his blazers many, _many_ pockets.

Seriously, some of the pockets had pockets of their own! _Why_ couldn't modern ladies fashion be so helpful towards self-defense? At least those ridiculous hoop skirts she used to wear had plenty of room to hide a sword underneath. The outfits of today usually had her wishing lightsabers were real. Well, actually Felicitas had wanted _that_ the first time she saw Star Wars, which was when the original premiered in May of 1977. As she'd been one of only a handful of people initially willing to finance the interesting idea back before it became a cultural phenomenon, she _had_ been invited to see the original showing (an early-cut that she was told lacked many of the special effects still being developed), but had declined due to the presence of more than a few headhunters in the general area. That investment, of course, had more than paid off after the fact, unfortunately without any real laser swords to date, but that was neither here nor there. Then again, back then she was rather hoping space travel more like it was seen in _Star Wars_ would be feasible by now, but the timetables set by _Star Trek_ might be too optimistic at the rate public interest in it had presently dwindled down to.

Felicity forced the decades-old wistful aggravation away as she recognized the device Diggle was pulling out of his many pockets, frowning as she realized all that could mean. She hadn't really pressed before, when he'd been gearing up to go and wanting to take listening devices that'd record without broadcasting and therefore be secure no matter who they were bought from, doubly so after she'd showed him how to check it over to be completely sure. She'd wondered, though, why he thought he'd needed it when his job for the night was really to guard Oliver's mother.

Then again, Missus Queen had unknowingly shot her son when he'd broken into her office only a few weeks ago. Something Felicity probably should've asked about, especially since she knew that that damn List had something to do with Walter's abduction and, before teaming up with Oliver and Diggle, all she'd had to go on for finding her missing boss was all the suspicions she'd dug up about the man's wife. Not to mention the nighttime breaking and entering had followed her giving Oliver the second copy of the List.

The one that'd belonged to Moira Queen. Who, as it turned out, did not hyphenate. According to a brief statement released by Queen Consolidated after her second marriage, she'd chosen to keep her first husband's name in commemoration to him and their son. Truth be told, it probably had at least a little to do with the power that the Queen name held here in Starling City especially, even after Robert Queen's death.

But Felicity had only actually met the woman once; she'd received a polite smile and even a 'good morning' when they passed each other in the hallway. So she couldn't really say how much was sentiment or not, even if the woman had had her second husband kidnapped a few weeks before shooting her son. Though if she did both of those knowingly, she was going to have to join the fairly short list of women Felicity had to truly dislike. Not an easy feat in and of itself, but Felicity liked Walter, and she still had nightmares about all the ways that night—when Oliver had come to her for medical rather than technical help—could've gone _wrong_.

"Thought while I was standing around there was no harm in listening," Diggle held the device out to the billionaire, who visibly _didn't_ want to take it. "Heard a few things you should hear too."

Oliver hesitated for a conspicuous grimace, before reaching out to accept the device, turning it around in his huge hands till he could see it was all set to go and then pressed play to hear what secrets it held. The first part meant very little to him, other than it drove the nail in a little harder that his childhood friend had been through a lot tonight, but the short conversation between his mother and Malcolm Merlyn meant a lot more.

Felicity only barely noticed the way his face darkened as he listened to that later part, because most of her mind had been ensnared much earlier on.

 _ **Nanda Parbat?**_ No. It _couldn't_ be...

 _Could_ it?

Even if Malcolm Merlyn had made it _there_... If he had somehow ended up travelling through the Hindu Kush mountain range that'd been the barrier between the Middle East and Asia—a militarized one since the Age of Alexandros Magnus—but fairly effective in its own right, at least until men started mass producing airplanes. Even if he'd found the ancient temple that Mazin had made the home and training grounds for his League of Assassins. Ra's al Ghul (the title Mazin had created for himself as the head of his dangerous order), could have little reason to train the billionaire, but then allow his departure from the League.

Yes, the Immortals who'd pledged themselves to Mazin's service were allowed vacations that spanned even lifetimes. But that described only a few members of the League, as they were also the select few who could truly challenge their leader if they so desired.

And yes, Malcolm Merlyn had returned from his wanderings long before Felicity moved to Starling City, but her student hadn't offered any qualms to the update when she informed him of her new home with the same sort of letter she'd sent him every time she'd moved. He just sent the same flowers and housewarming presents as always: all delivered into her home while she wasn't there. Something that'd seem creepy if it didn't always amuse her. How dutifully Mazin's followers always avoided her even to that extent, per her own wish to have as little to do with the assassins as possible. So Merlyn, if he was one of those assassins, _couldn't_ be here for anything to do with Starling...

Except the brutal, completely cold way he'd taken out those two Triad hitmen, (something she still needed to show Oliver and Diggle,) _had_ reminded Felicity of her most ruthless student, hadn't it? The same student that Methos hadn't been willing to leave her alone with for the first several years of his training. Though he hadn't taught the man more than a handful of hidden hints at wisdom mixed with a few warnings whenever Mazin did something that honestly upset her. A mistake Mazin made only twice. Once unthinkingly, and the second time completely unintentionally, but something her 'big brother' had reacted to much the same way her first husband had each time her teacher had tossed her off cliffs and balconies thousands of years before. Only Methos was perhaps a bit more vicious: being killed by Death for only upsetting her still seemed a little extreme to her... but her brother had always thought her heart too generous towards far too many.

 _Could_ Malcolm Merlyn really be a member of the League? And if so, _why_ was he here? It just _didn't make sense_...

"Merlyn seems to think _he's_ going to save Starling," Diggle said after the recording came to its end. "Said he learned how at some place called 'Nanda Parbat'?"

Felicity couldn't help but flinch when she heard the name yet again; repeated by the man that'd been standing there while making that facsimile of what he was hearing with his own ears, and therefore completely discounting the not even fully thought idea that maybe Malcolm Merlyn had said something else that just _sounded_ like the fallen ancient city Mazin had made his home. Unfortunately, both of the men she was working with down here had been turning to look at her in time to see her reaction to the name.

"Felicity?" Oliver put so much worry into the syllables of her modernized name that he didn't really have to add, "What's wrong?"

It was likely a futile effort, but she tried to play it off anyway. "Nothing, just... well, you should probably see... something else I have, too," she finished more confidently because her brain had caught up with exactly the distraction she needed for the two too observant men whose worried eyes were locked on her.

At least worrying about her seemed to have both of them focused here, rather than thinking about everything else that weighed as much as the world tonight. Still, with what she had to think about now—something that could very well also weigh as much as the world—she needed to turn that attention elsewhere.

"This makes more sense now," Felicity turned her chair back around both to start typing commands into her keyboard and to not have to meet either of those concerned gazes that she could still feel on the back of her head as they came closer.

Still, their silent presence filled that eerie silence of the basement with palpable energy. Worried energy, heavy energy, but still better than the silence where it was just rats occasionally interrupting her keyboard's concerto.

"If Mister Merlyn's involved with the same List that got Walter abducted, too, I mean. Given what happened—I still have to show you that." She frowned at the monitor that didn't want to produce the video she'd preset on this, instinctively hitting pause when Oliver's big hand settled on her shoulder just as it was about to start playing as commanded.

"What'd you mean?" the vigilante pressed, his warm grip gentle as she tilted back into it to meet his eyes. "What happened?"

Felicity looked at the monitor, and almost pointed at it, but then she remembered that Tommy Merlyn wasn't the only one that'd had to deal with at least one shock tonight. Oliver had gone through the trauma of yanking back his Hood for his friend, too. Another shock without any preparation wasn't necessary. She sighed, then looked up to meet the archer's gaze yet again, carefully selecting each word so they wouldn't come out as inappropriate innuendos that'd be entirely inconsiderate in this situation. Or, more so than usual anyway. "Mister Merlyn and Tommy didn't make it to the executive floor before—"

"Yeah they did," Oliver dissented, his brown furrowing. "That's where Tommy's dad was shot."

"Yes," Felicity nodded slowly, still holding his eyes with her own. "But they had to get by more Triad goons first. A pair of them were waiting on the stairs, near the penthouse."

Both the archer and the bodyguard were clearly taken aback again. Not unexpectedly, since she hadn't told them anything about it at the time. Since she hadn't had the time to before it wasn't an issue in and of itself; courtesy of one headed head-first down the stairs with a crushed windpipe and the other with a bullet hole in his head.

Oliver shook his head unhappily, "Why didn't you—"

"You were fighting Chien Na Wei," Felicity cut him off, hesitating a moment as he stared at her, but continuing when she couldn't think of a better way to say it. "And he killed them anyway. Once they—the two Triad goons, I mean—were dead, it didn't seem all that important just then."

More staring, while Felicity was trying to tell herself not to feel bad for repeatedly referring to two dead men as 'goons' since it wasn't really inappropriate, considering they were killed because they were trying to kill someone who just happened to be better at killing than them. Very likely a _lot_ better, given where he'd perhaps been trained, though her thoughts were still trying to shy away from _that_.

" _What?_ " the vigilante visibly struggled with the very idea, withdrawing his hand from her shoulder so he could start doing that thumb thing that meant he was agitated but trying to restrain it. Probably because he didn't want to risk hurting her even a little by clenching his fists too tightly if he lost that part of the battle for control. "You mean Tommy—"

"No!" Felicity interrupted more sharply than she should have, but she was so startled by the assumption it'd just burst right out. And given the conversations he'd already suffered through with his friend tonight, that wasn't a misconception Oliver needed anywhere near his head. She shook her head rapidly, making her hair whip around the way it always did if it wasn't much more restrained than the free-flowing locks the archer had helped her free earlier. "No. No, not Tommy. I'm pretty sure he's never even seen someone be killed before that. I mean, he looked _shocked_ when his dad—you know what? I saved it anyway. You should just watch it."

She turned back to her computer, more than a little perturbed with herself for not being better prepared for this conversation. But the idea that tonight's target was one of her student's followers had shaken her, maybe more than she was consciously realizing.

At least they were a little ready now. Whether the name 'Nanda Parbat' had meant anything to either of them. Oliver from who-knows-where he'd actually been and what he'd done during his 'time on the Island.' Or Diggle who'd toured the Middle East with the American military three times—this still shouldn't be a complete shock to see.

The black-and-white security recording of the two Triad soldiers in white dress coats stopping the two Merlyn men in black tuxedoes enlarged clearly to the larger window she'd set the ten second video up for Oliver and Diggle to see. Not that both of her teammates wouldn't have been able to recognize what she had when she'd seen it in the smaller view along all the other _Merlyn Global_ security system images. Nanda Parbat or no Nanda Parbat, the sheer speed with which Malcolm Merlyn managed to kill the men told its own tale. His movements were fast and precise—practiced: proof of plenty of brutal training.

The sheer shock on Tommy's face at what he'd just watched was even clearer upon enlarging though. He was literally frozen, first from fear when the two men first stopped them, then stunned as he realized what his father was doing—had done. Not something that'd make any of this night easier for Oliver, especially given what he knew his friend had to see only a little later on.

Bad enough Tommy found out Oliver was the vigilante that Starling City was still trying to see as more of a hero than a criminal as of late, but that the father he'd later watch get gunned down was a killer, too? Tommy was too young, too innocent of how truly terrible the world could be, to have the presence of mind to rationalize such things. Even if he recognized that the violence was necessitated by the need for defensive action...

"I copied all of the recordings over while I was watching them. It's much safer than going back into the saved files to find them," Felicity told them once the video had finished. "But that... that seemed like the important part." She didn't even try to hide her worry as she watched Oliver's face closely.

It was a long moment before the billionaire said anything. "How would he..." he trailed off, clearly very confused by this development.

"I guess we're back to the 'Nanda Parbat' thing," Diggle suggested. "Name sounds familiar to me, but I can't place it. Might be some place in the Middle East? If it was somewhere that I just heard about in passing, that never came up in debriefings or missions, I'd have no reason to really remember it." He shook his head. "But a place with that kind of training should've been in a briefing."

"You think Mister Merlyn's some sort of terrorist?" Oliver blinked at him, shaking his head slowly.

Neither one of the men noticed Felicity blinking as she looked between them, a little confused, but mostly uncertain as to how much she could—or should—say here. After all, none of _this_ had anything to do with computers. The League of Assassins didn't even _use_ computers. It still somewhat amazed her that their technophobic leader had finally come around to using cell phones, and that was only in the last few years!

"If this was the two years he was gone when Tommy and I were kids, that was almost twenty years ago." Oliver objected, but there wasn't a lot of vehemence in his voice.

"They're not all terrorists over there, Oliver. There's some good people, and a lot of people that are just stuck," the ex-soldier shook his head slowly. "And yeah, there's terrorists. Some soldiers and spies, too."

"Spies?" Oliver tacked onto the last reference, maybe because Digg had emphasized it just a little. "You think Malcolm Merlyn's a spy for someone?"

"Makes more sense than terrorist, doesn't it? Though decades aren't unheard of for sleeper cells."

Felicity turned the first idea over in her head for a few seconds. She'd lived in Starling City for a few years now, and never met Tommy's father before he'd crashed his son's birthday dinner.

Wait... Maybe he _was_ here just to watch someone else. Such as looking after the Pre-Immortal she'd only recently found; that'd be a good reason for Mazin to send one of his students home, wouldn't it?

She liked that idea a _whole_ lot more than the thought of the League of Assassins maybe mimicking terrorists and putting people in places that their leader might one day decide to destroy. _That_ thought was frankly terrifying, considering her student _had_ seen fit to end a few cities before. One of the aspects of the life her much younger 'big brother' had chosen for himself that they'd had to mostly agree to disagree on...

He wouldn't actually break his word to her though, would he?

...No. Even if he didn't care for her as much as he professed, Felicity did know her student feared very few people: maybe only one man. With _very_ , _**very**_ good reason. And that man was _her_ teacher; the other Immortal and who called himself her brother. Methos hid himself well, but the man that those who read the Bible still called Death wasn't someone to be trifled with even a few millennia later. Something she couldn't imagine Mazin forgetting... unless a truly Dark Quickening had turned him into the demon he titled himself as.

Felicity swallowed, but refused to let her mind focus on that terribly terrifying thought. Not now. Not here. Instead, she seized onto the present as Diggle went on in that wearily thoughtful tone that failed to hide the weight of heartache he was suffering under.

"I can't see how a terrorist could save Starling City though. And his hand-to-hand skills remind me more of some of the Mossad agents I've met than any of the terrorists. Even the ones with more training than the kids they barely teach to aim machine guns."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed, and Felicity didn't miss the way Diggle's sad eyes sharpened just a little at just how matter-of-factly the archer acknowledged the comparison: perhaps another hint at his 'time on the Island' being a lot more than most assumed. Then he shook his head, "Some of his bodyguards are former Mossad though, he could've—"

"Doesn't work that way," Diggle shook his head. "His bodyguards might teach him a few tricks, but they wouldn't actually train him. That's not guarding, it's teaching—and that's an entirely different skill set. One a lot of guys don't actually have."

He was right about that, Felicity knew. Though John Diggle had the temperament to be a good teacher if he wanted to be.

Another reason she didn't particularly want to take self-defense lessons from either of them but would probably have to sooner or later, once everything calmed down enough for them to remember she'd been hurt sort of on their watch. Not really, but even if she explained everything to them, immortality, the damn Game and all, they weren't going to agree with her.

She'd known too many over-protective men not to recognize their type around her. John Diggle maybe a little less so than Oliver; he'd married a woman he'd served with, after all, and the former Missus Diggle would've had to break him of a little of that over protectiveness for their relationship to work while they were serving together—and it had, from what she had looked up on Digg, his divorce hadn't been able to survive coming home from war, rather than war itself.

Oliver, on the other hand, would be much more difficult to persuade away from that protectiveness. He was 'her type,' after all; and as aggravating as acknowledging that was, it was also somewhat of a relief, given the disaster her last attempt at love had been. José hadn't been protective in his love, he'd been possessive; something her own heart had blinded her to till it was too late... after _that_ , the 'type' of man she'd married in the past with fondness rather than fascination from charm and passion, though she rather doubted Oliver lacked either given his own past...

Felicity shook her head; that was hardly the sort of thing to be thinking about, here of all places. Watching Oliver—and sometimes Diggle—work out around here made more than enough innuendoes pop out of her mouth as it was.

"That doesn't tell us anything about how he thinks he's going to make Starling City a better place," Oliver observed, clearly thinking it through and coming up blank.

"No." Diggle agreed, pausing a just-noticeable second before adding. "But it _might_ tell us that your mom doesn't agree with his plan."

Felicity's gaze didn't snap to Diggle quite as fast as Oliver's, but she still saw his eyes narrow again.

"What do you mean?" the archer demanded. "It sounded like..." he trailed off rather than admitting the reality of his mother's involvement, but that substantial silence was its own admission.

Diggle sighed before explaining slowly. "Yeah. It sounds like Merlyn might be up to something, and your mom might be helping him."

"Might be?" the vigilante prodded impatiently.

For another moment, his fake-bodyguard hesitated, and then sighed again. "She _wasn't surprised_ , Oliver," Digg shook his head. "When everything started tonight. And that Chinese friend of hers? Chen? He wasn't either; but he was pretty protective helping her get out of the building."

Oliver thought for a second, then asked, "Frank Chen?" his frown deepened as Diggle nodded. "He's the head of _Chen Security Investment Holdings_. He's basically a glorified accountant."

"With a lot of accounts, and holdings, in China," Felicity pointed out quietly, trying not to wince when Oliver's frown turned to her.

Though even as the severe edges of his frown softened in response to her unhidden hesitation, she could see he saw where Diggle was going with this, too. And he didn't like it.

"Probably has some ties to the Triad too," Oliver groaned, turning to look towards the salmon ladder as he thought it through. And grimaced as he admitted, "He was friends with my dad, too. Dad said he was going to meet us in China after we sailed over on the _Gambit_."

"So he knew about the trip," Diggle deliberated. "He could've been the one to sabotage the boat. For Merlyn. Or your Mom."

Oliver scowled, but the—not exactly new—surprise in there for Felicity had her mouth moving without conscious thought before he could say anything.

" _What?_ " she could feel how wide her eyes were as she looked between the two men; especially so because of all the dark paints that was still lining and shadowing them, and would be until she got home to her makeup remover. " _The Gambit_ was sabotaged?"

Diggle blinked at her, as if just remembering this was something she should've probably been told, while Oliver sighed.

"Yes," the vigilante reluctantly admitted. "And my Mom apparently had its remains recovered some time in the last five years. Had it stored somewhere, probably in Starling, till someone—"

"Maybe Merlyn," Digg interjected, some of that heavy grief and shock taking a backseat to what was obviously a topic they'd discussed multiple times. And the all around edginess indicated some of those 'discussions' probably only paused on the practice mats with at least some bruises.

" _Someone_ made her get rid of it," Oliver shook his head. "You didn't see _who_ she was meeting with, Digg. And you looked at all of the Merlyn security staff. Was the guy who interrupted you there?"

"No," the big man admitted, clearly too tired to pick any sort of fight about it.

"Wait, back up," Felicity ordered, looking between them as more pieces came together in her head. "That's what Walter was looking into! It _has_ to be."

Oliver's brow was furrowed as he moved closer to her, "What is?"

Felicity sighed, "I told you, remember? He had me looking into an accounting error before he found that copy of the List, right?" she nodded to herself, hurrying on without waiting for an answer from either of them. "The two-point-six-million dollars that wasn't an accounting error or an investment like Missus Queen said?"

This was something she'd told them both before, but with all that'd happened—not to mention their uncomprehending eyes—it bore explaining for a second time. Especially since, as far as Felicity knew, none of them had ever checked the address that'd had something to do with Walter wanting her to back off their investigation, at least until he realized he could go no further without her help. That help had somehow led to his professional abduction, that'd happened right inside _Queen Consolidated_. With no evidence at all left behind, because all of the security cameras weren't recording then: they were down for scheduled maintenance that only someone inside the company should've known about. That downtime allowed the C.E.O's abductors to enter, capture and escape without any way for Felicity, the S.C.P.D, or anyone else to trace them.

Not that she hadn't been trying, even before the F.B.I was called in. That she'd been the last one to talk to the businessman—proven by both their cell phone records—meant she'd learned about his disappearance from the police before the media had even been alerted, with the Q.C media wranglers wanting to keep it quiet till they were sure the S.C.P.D couldn't find him.

After the barely veiled questions about whether she might've been Walter's mistress—something that thankfully hadn't spread beyond the detectives few quick questions, approaching Oliver even after all the times he'd come to her for help hadn't seemed wise. Plus, she couldn't really see Oliver for a while anyway; he was in the hospital for a supposed accident—that in hindsight probably had more to do with the Christmas hostage crisis than the man who regularly did a lot of things much more dangerous than driving a motorcycle actually losing control or anything like that.

After Oliver had checked out of the hospital just in time for a quiet Christmas—long ahead of all the timetables the doctors wanted—she'd been hoping he'd stop by with another weird request and some hilariously bad lie to try and cover up another connection to his vigilantism. He didn't.

That hadn't made Felicity eventually calling the handsome stepson easy. His occasional aspirations toward heroism shouldn't have been enough for her to give him a chance by showing him the List; not when she didn't have any idea why he was targeting the people on it in between sometimes saving hostages and stopping bank robbers. Not when most of the requests he made never made any sense, and that was without paying any attention to the lies he tried to explain them with, not until she'd pieced them together with the man in the Hood. The only one she had been able to figure out right away was the Vertigo one, and that was more because he'd looked like he was going to keel over any minute there and Thea Queen had been arrested for driving under the drug's influence a short time before. But Count Vertigo's real name wasn't on the List anymore than his handle was, and given _his sister's_ indirect involvement, saving the city from him was clearly personal. Thus not at all reassuring when _his mother_ was the one Felicity and Walter were investigating before Walter was vanished.

However, dead end after dead end eventually left her with no other ends to follow, calling Oliver Queen seemed to be her only option. And, deep down, she'd known she could trust him, even if she still couldn't quite say why.

 _How_ had she never made the clear connection to him confronting his mother, getting shot and ending up in the backseat of her car to _all of that?_ Sure, she'd been avoiding that kind of excitement since her last traumatic death, but she hadn't thought she'd turned her brain off!

"What was it then, Felicity?" Diggle asked her, the concern simmering inside his heavy eyes making her realize she'd been silently thinking much too long. So maybe her brain _was_ just coming back online...

Felicity tried to summarize it all again in short. "It was used to refinance an offshore limited-liability company called Tempest in 2009. It's only activity since then was continuing an unspecified undertaking and purchasing a warehouse here in Starling City."

"Undertaking?" Oliver latched onto that word.

Felicity shook her head, "That's all it was called in the computer files. Even the money for it didn't have a trail after it was withdrawn from a numbered account in Switzerland. Probably sent on as cash funds from there; really untraceable then. The Swiss banks are pretty strict about their discreteness."

That was putting it mildly. Fortunately both men seemed to understand the statement, so she pushed on.

"The address of the warehouse was all I really had for Walter at first. I was—well, it was a very time consuming project, even without work on top of it. But after Walter saw whatever was in that warehouse he wanted me to stop looking into it."

"He saw it?" Oliver clarified, looking very, very unhappy. "Whatever was left of the _Gambit_?"

Understandably, since even talking about the wreckage of that boat had to bring up some bad memories for him, but Felicity still didn't like shaking her head. "I don't know. I never... I never saw it," she swallowed; hating herself just a little for not even thinking of looking into that when she was a lot more capable of surviving any kind of trouble than the nice Englishman that'd come to her for help was. By the time she had looked, after his kidnapping, the warehouse was of course empty. "I assume Mister Steele did. That that's why he tried to scare me off when I brought him some more info. I mean, later he said that he thought the head of Q.C. security was killed for whatever was there, and he really didn't want me to keep looking into it, I think, but he didn't really have anywhere else to look."

It took her only half a second to recognize what part of that statement had upset both the archer and the bodyguard; the lost life she hadn't mentioned before because she'd wanted to keep the focus on Walter and hope that finding him would bring justice for Josiah Hudson, too, but she hurried on before either of them could say—or maybe in Oliver's case; yell—anything.

"If the _Queens' Gambit_ was in that warehouse when Walter went to check it out, he wouldn't have been able to drop it." Felicity shook her head, "Not when he found that notebook with that shadow entity's symbol."

"'Shadow entity'?" Oliver latched onto the one part she wasn't really expecting him to. "What? Like a hacker?"

"Maybe. That was three, almost four years ago now. It's hard to tell after so much time. But there should've been a stronger correlation with the Q.C system than there was in December." Felicity nodded as she thought it over. "Whoever it was, was good. Maybe they had legitimate access, maybe not. Either way, they reversed engineered their footprints for sure, so without looking at the system within, like a week or two afterwards, there really was no way to trace them. It's been overwritten too many times since."

"Then how'd you find the image from the notebook?" Diggle wanted to know.

"It was on the receipt. The electronic acknowledgment." Felicity replied right away, wishing it was information she'd given Walter, too, since it might've meant he'd be more careful.

After all, even after Walter thought someone might've been killed over it, he would've had a hard time believing Moira Queen would hurt him. Maybe even if what she was hiding did have something to do with her first husband's death.

"It was saved on our system as the confirmation of the money transfer." She shook her head. "If they'd saved a little more; listed the transaction itself, with your mom signing off on it, accounting wouldn't have even red-flagged it for Walter in the fall."

Why _Queen Consolidated_ 's accountants were at least three years behind the times was a question the I.R.S might ask. Then again, if they were up to date on their taxes maybe not. If this was for some sort of criminal activity, though, they wouldn't want to leave even that much proof for the S.C.P.D—or the F.B.I—to find.

Oliver was scowling in the general direction of his salmon ladder, but she didn't think he was seeing it as he thought through everything this night was throwing at them.

Then again, he did seemed to spend a lot of time on those exquisite plyometric exercises, and even if the whole-body workout was mostly meditative for him he had to be thinking at least some of that time. So maybe looking at it helped him straighten his thoughts out a little, too. Sort of his version of meditation. Step by step. Just without all the lovely thrusts, contractions and leaps... which was probably a good thing, since her brain had no trouble wandering that distracting way on its own.

"So you know where the yacht was stored?" the archer clarified after several moments of silence.

Diggle spoke up before she could answer, " _Was_ being the operative word, Oliver," he shook his head slowly. "Your Mom agreed to destroy it, remember?"

"No, she—"

"Even if she didn't, she couldn't have kept it in the same place."

The vigilante sighed, then nodded. "Not if she's working with the man responsible now."

"And if that man's Malcolm Merlyn?" Diggle shook his head. "Her trying to have him killed tonight makes a whole lot more sense."

It did.

Especially if Malcolm Merlyn was some sort of sleeping operative for the League of Assassins... an idea that was still making her spine shiver a little, but she was trying to ignore _that_ , hoping it was just her brain being overactive as it came out of hibernation and thought up unpleasant possibilities.

After all, maybe Mazin in a rare act of mercy saw fit to simply release the man rather than orphan his son. It wouldn't be entirely unheard of, all things considered.

"Chen's more of a problem though." Digg pointed out that complication again. "If he helped kill your dad—"

"Why would he help my mom?" Oliver shook his head, then both of them blinked as Felicity snorted.

"Really?" the Immortal's eyebrows felt a little funny as she let them arch high on her forehead, but she knew that was just all the makeup up there: her sensitive skin reacting as it was unexpectedly irritated by the excess of skin paints, not precisely helped by her Quickening healing even the little irritations because it had nothing else to do at the moment and was still a bit overactive from fixing her shoulder post the aborted duel. "With your 'putting the fear of god' into people thing, you have to ask that?" she deliberately quoted the words he'd said in _Big Belly Burger_ a little over a week ago, finger quotes and all; the dark purple paint on each nail glinting with each gesture.

And successfully made the sides of Oliver's mouth twitch upward for half a second despite everything they were talking about, but he shook his head again a moment later. "You think he was intimidated into killing my dad?" the vigilante shook his head. "By Malcolm Merlyn?" He couldn't have sounded more incredulous if he tried.

"Yeah, I do," Felicity's definite tone was the polar opposite.

Then again, they each had reasons for those feelings. Reasons that Oliver didn't need to explain; sentimental protectiveness towards the best friend he still thought of like a brother making him want to believe the best of Tommy's father even though the man hadn't been much of a father. Meanwhile, Felicity couldn't think of any way to explain what she knew without also attempting to explain everything... and no matter what she felt deep down, after the way her last major reveal based on feelings rather logic went, she just couldn't justify it now. Not yet. Maybe never; so long as the bitter memories of betrayal still made her feel fire and taste smoke...

"Felicity," Oliver shook his head again. "I mean, clearly he's had some self-defense training, but—"

"Not self-defense, man," Diggle deliberately interrupted yet again. "Combat," the former soldier shook his own head, holding the younger man's gaze all the while. "Like me. And you. Not sure I could've taken those two down that quickly without a gun to start with."

"I could, you're right," Oliver allowed, then he swallowed. "But he's... He's Tommy's dad. He and my dad were friends."

"And you're Tommy's best friend," Felicity pointed out softly before adding more firmly; "Doesn't mean you're not the Starling City vigilante, right?"

The archer kept shaking his head, clearly trying to process the information and not think it through at the same time. Not wanting to, but knowing he needed to.

"So?" Felicity asked softly, before his thoughts could spiral somewhere bad for too long. "What do we do now?"

It was enough to make their not entirely fearless leader shake off those thoughts and look between them again, "Now it's time to go home. Get some rest," he told them, then asked, "John, are you sure—"

"I'm sure now's not the time for downtime, man," Diggle interrupted, saying each word a little slower than normal, like he was trying to convince himself of them as he said it. "Anyway, Lawton already got away. No point in trying to go after him now." He shook his head. "Looks like he'll be back anyway."

"Not for Mister Merlyn," Oliver opined. "The contract on Barrera's phone was too specific for a follow-up. And the Triad won't take another hit on him after their losses tonight. Not anytime soon." The archer locked gazes with his partner then. "But you're right. He'll be back. And we'll get him."

That gave Diggle just a moment of pause before he asked, "Thought Lawton wasn't a priority to you?"

"He's a priority to _you_ ," Oliver replied evenly.

Felicity could almost see the conviction in each word easing a little more of the weight from Diggle's shoulders. It made some of those warm emotions swell in her chest, but it was still tempered by the confusion and concern of her ignorance here—she still didn't know _why_ Floyd Lawton deserved a place on John Diggle's list.

The ex-soldier nodded. "Thanks, man." Then he sighed, "But you're right. We better call it a night first." He looked at Felicity. "You need a lift?"

The tech-girl gave him a sincere smile even as she coated her words with just enough censure to remind him that she could take care of herself—though outright telling them that hadn't worked so far, so a tone alone may be a futile effort. "Still have my own car, thanks."

Diggle returned her smile with a small, still sad one of his own, before turning to go. "Have a good night then, both of you."

Felicity watched Diggle lumber away, her heart sinking with the weight each of those steps seemed to weigh. He was halfway down the hall when she looked at Oliver again, and asked softly enough for only him to hear even in the drafty, eerie basement, "This Lawton kick his dog or something?"

"No," Oliver shook his head as he watched their friend walk out. "He killed his brother."

Felicity swallowed back a gasp, knowing this moment of pain wasn't hers. So she closed her eyes to mourn a man she'd never known for just a moment, because John Diggle's brother had to have been a man worth mourning.

Losing a loved one was never easy. They _all_ shared your heart, but losing them— _any_ of them—always felt like the whole thing was being yanked out of your chest and torn apart. Part of grieving was figuring out how to mash and mend the broken pieces back together before you forced it back in. How like confetti those pieces were, and how long the grief took to swallow without it coming back up, varied every time too.

Sometimes there was relief to help. A long, painful demise due to illness of any kind almost didn't allow for that horrible surprise of a piece of your heart slipping away to never return. At least then you knew that their suffering was finally over. At least it was their time. At least you might've had a chance to say goodbye.

Sudden deaths were like sledgehammers: sending a tragic blow at the heart to shatter it every which way.

Accidents offered no relief at the loss—except for maybe the thought that it was quick. That they didn't suffer. They were just... _gone_. No rhyme, no reason, no anything. Unless they were a Pre-Immortal involved in an accident that didn't decapitate them, they weren't coming back.

Worse was when a loved one was killed. There was no exception there. No real reason to seize as a relief to help with the grief. A slight difference, perhaps, when it was a soldier, a cop, a fireman, or anyone who'd sworn themselves to service and died in doing it. At least they'd made that choice. They'd died doing what they'd chosen to do. Maybe they'd even saved someone's life—or several some ones'—something they'd be proud of and would probably choose to do again if they had the choice, because that was the kind of person they were. Heroism truly defined. Still tragic, still terrible, still heartrending. But at least there was that choice.

Felicity almost wished John Diggle's brother had died that way. A soldier like him. At least then he would've had the funeral, the flag, the expected time to grieve. He'd still have the loss. Probably some survivors guilt, too, given that they'd both served in the military. But maybe that small measure of relief in knowing his brother made the same choice he had, and wouldn't want him to regret it for him anymore than John would if their situations were reversed.

Only Felicity knew that _wasn't_ the case. From her brief perusal of Diggle's military file, she'd known he had an older brother that also served, but he'd retired before John had. So he'd died away from the war, when it wasn't excepted. And she couldn't even remember what his name was...

Murder had to be the worst. Murder for hire just that much higher. That someone actually wanted you dead enough to pay a professional killer to do it... the only possible relief that left was revenge. An eye for an eye. It never worked entirely. The pain didn't just go away, whether you achieve pseudo-justice or not. The handful of headhunters she'd hunted down after they'd killed one of her students, or one of her friends, had taught her that much at least. Every time the rage gave way once its purpose was fulfilled, and then only the heartrending vacuum of grief was left behind. Still, the lesson didn't negate the necessity of the action each time.

But to think you'd had that 'justice,' only for it to be snatched away? She couldn't even imagine...

Well, no, she could. There was one Immortal out there she should've killed thousands of years ago, and a few times since, after all. But karma would catch up with Cassandra eventually, whether Methos kept protecting her from afar—or occasionally up close: as seemed to be the case whenever the witch made the mistake of coming anywhere near Felicitas—or not.

Felicity could logically process what'd happened from John and Oliver's reactions. Deadshot was an assassin. A murderer for hire that both of them had thought dead, that they obviously thought Oliver had killed just like Interpol did _._ _That_ realization and the potential problem it presented all its own had already occurred to her.

It wasn't just a potential problem though. Not when they were going to go after this guy if he ever came anywhere near here again. She held no illusions there; if his 'job' had brought him to Starling City twice in a handful of months it would again. Obviously they'd go after him then, and just as obviously it was _right_ for them to do so, since this was his second visit to Starling City in the mere months it'd been under the archer's auspices. And it was only because Malcolm Merlyn had been wearing a bulletproof vest that he hadn't died tonight. Maybe a League of Assassins member or not. If Lawton was an Immortal though... well, that'd definitely complicate everything when they caught up with him. So much so, maybe she should find him first... then again, there were more than a few other options available to her, too.

"You should head home too," Oliver reminded her, unknowingly saving her from the spiral of thoughts about dark pasts, presents and futures as he did so. "Get some rest."

Felicity looked at him. "What about you?"

The small smile he gave her wasn't quite fake, but it wasn't a sincere sign of happiness either. "I've still got some adrenaline to work off," he told her with a gesture towards the mats.

The Immortal cocked her head to the side, studying him carefully. His beautiful body was hard to read, even for someone who'd worked as a healer back when women were allowed to, though not since accusations of witchcraft had made professions like midwifery and herbalism more than a little risky. Still, she'd worked with warriors then, and recognized the type without any effort at all. She had even before she realized he was the vigilante, which was another thing that'd confused her a bit about him considering what was general knowledge about the man that'd come back from the dead in the not literal sense. Since then, though, she'd seen him several times without a shirt—it was very distracting just how often he didn't wear one in the Foundry, actually. But she'd still seen his scars, more than a few of which told tales of torture. What's more, she knew from watching him climb that ladder that first time with a still healing gunshot wound that he had a stupidly high tolerance for pain. So she just asked, "You're not hiding any injuries, right?"

Oliver's smile was a little more real now. "No," he shook his head. "I'm fine, Felicity." His eyes narrowed on her then before she could answer. "How's your shoulder?"

"Fine," Felicity answered automatically, wincing at her tongue's auto-choice.

The one word you could say in response to 'how are you' that didn't necessarily mean what it meant. Particularly when it was said so quickly and without qualifications. No, as a response on your well being, it real meant 'stop asking' more than 'I feel great!' and even if she wanted to straight-out tell the archer that, it was really too early for her to be that exasperated with him. Except her injury had healed over already, and she hated having to hide that fact while he worried... but it wasn't like she could just show him.

"I should check it for—"

"No," Felicity cut him off, spinning her chair so that her opposite side was facing him as she shook her head. "Really, I'm good, Oliver. Just tired." She pushed herself up from the chair, still keeping her no-longer-injured shoulder turned away from him as she met his concerned gaze while reaching for her purse. "You're going to get some rest too, right?"

Oliver nodded slowly. "Yeah, in a bit." He turned toward the door as she started toward it. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

Felicity opened her mouth to protest, but considering what they were just talking about—and how she'd stupidly let him figure out that she'd been hurt right outside here—she instead closed it and let him play escort.

Anyway, she could take care of herself, of course, but his presence was still comforting, even if the cold bite of the February night air made it harder to ignore how warm he was. There may not be snow on the ground right now, but the air was still steamed by their breath, and the man walking with her was a furnace.

"It's a nice night, for February," Oliver commented softly as they walked down the alley the side entrance was in, to the parking lot in back of what'd soon be the nightclub. It did have lights and surveillance now, though not so much going towards the front in the alley—they didn't really want club customers wandering down this way. They didn't want anyone wandering down this alley.

"At least it wasn't snowing earlier," Felicity agreed, shivering slightly before she could stop herself. "Feels cold enough for it now though."

Her outfit, leather jacket and all, was much better suited for the slightly warmer hours during the day when the sun had been shining down on them; the black leather absorbing each ray and keeping her a lot toastier than it was now.

Somehow she was surprised when the warm weight of his big, hot body-heated jacket settled around her, an instant cocoon of warmth as the front folded closed.

"What, no," Felicity tried to take it off, but he pushed her hands away with a gentle shove from one hand and his other arm went around her shoulders. "Oliver, I have a coat. And my car's—"

"You're cold, I'm not," Oliver interrupted her, his voice firm but warm with what might be the genuine affection that sometimes lit his eyes and turned the corners of his mouth up when she said or did something to earn it—not always intentionally. The babbling was rarely intentional, and the innuendoes never really were, but she didn't mind them so much when they made him smile. "Believe it or not, my mother did try to raise me to be a gentleman, no matter what she's gotten involved in now."

Felicity wanted to reach for his hand at that, not liking the sadness slipping into his still warm voice. But her hands were trapped within the weight of his coat, which he was holding close via the hand he could hold the collar closed with while his arm—which never looked all that huge when he was standing next to Diggle but was definitely all muscle, a lot of muscle—was a solid band against trying to take the coat off. "I know, but—"

"It's not far to your car, Felicity," Oliver cut in again before she could get started. "And I'm still in the thermals I wear under the suit for the winter. I won't freeze. Promise."

Thermals. Wasn't that a wonderful idea? Why hadn't she thought of that? Oh, because it hadn't been super cold today and going in undercover all covered up would've been much less effective a disguise because there would've been nothing to distract from her face, even covered with all the makeup. Granted, the furnace of a man next to her would still be a lot hotter than her—figuratively and literally—with or without the same thermal clothing Digg said they used in the U.S military.

Felicity sighed, before saying softly, "Thank you."

The squeeze he gave her shoulders was so gentle she barely felt it through the layers of coats. Undoubtedly as deliberate as the placement of his hand, which let him hold the coat closed around her and not put any weight where he still thought she was nursing a wound that wasn't even a scar by now.

Such consideration in the face of her duplicity was harder to swallow than some of the potential problems she'd thought of tonight. Even the way he'd shortened his long stride for her made each step a reminder of that. And that was something that almost had to be subconscious considering he'd been a pro with women before he was shipwrecked and he couldn't have been if he'd been walking too fast for any of them to follow. Especially when they were in high heels, which she was—and her feet still hated her for it.

They were almost to the end of the alley when she finally made herself look up at him, studying his face, which was deep in thought. "Oliver?" she waited till he looked back at her, holding his gaze as she told him, "I'm free. If you want to talk."

The archer held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Thank you, Felicity." He gave her shoulders that same gentle squeeze again as they rounded the corner out of the alley, steering her towards her mini-cooper, which was parked in the second closest spot: his bike was in the first. He used to park it right outside the door in the alley; maybe he still did when she wasn't here?

Protectiveness was a key characteristic of her type. No matter how irritating it could sometimes be; sometimes it was nice. Made her feel safe, because she knew she was. Even though she would be on her own, too. Knowing someone else cared enough to protect her did make it easier to trust them.

That was the one characteristic of 'her type' that José hadn't embodied. Not really. What she sometimes thought was protectiveness with him was actually just possessiveness, and she should have recognized that. Would have, if she wasn't wrapped up in the idea of courtly love and actually being able to marry _for_ love, nothing more or less—a very novel thing back then. And a disaster in the end.

So Oliver being protective sort of reassured her. Despite the fact that they'd only been on one date—and that was a dinner for his friend's birthday, even if neither one of them really felt it was 'just as friends.' Sure, he'd introduced her as his friend, and that'd almost made her blink, but Tommy and Laurel hadn't acted like they'd even heard the designation, and it was the only time he'd tried it that night—maybe more to remind himself than her.

Plus, he'd been protective before all of that: even before the bomb-collar courtesy of the Dodger, though _that_ had kicked the protectiveness toward the 'over' area, and the recent headhunter's lucky swing hadn't helped.

All the same, wherever they were going, at whatever pace and regardless of their pasts; his more recent years of trauma and her ages watching nations rise and fall, whatever was developing between them hadn't once stopped feeling right. And she wanted to trust that.

Trust that protectiveness that was so very much a part of the driven man he was.

Trust the half smiles and even rarer real smiles.

Trust that warmth that radiated off him and seemed to seep down into her very soul.

None of that had anything to do with how gorgeous he was. Though she couldn't deny it was another draw. In fact, it was the one that kept hitting her constantly. Probably at least in part due to all the pheromones; he was sweating so much all the time they _had_ to be part of his natural, everyday aroma...plus he was one of the finest forms of physical perfection she'd ever seen. Ever.

Felicity knew better though, than to trust that attraction alone. That was part of what she'd learned the hard way after all, so she wasn't even inclined to trust it long-term. Certainly not with any of her secrets.

Everything else though? The protection and drive. The smiles, warmth and consideration. Those things seemed to peak through more and more around her; as did her natural responses to them. Whatever they were steadily developing, whether they really wanted to share secrets or not...

The hardest part was that she did. Felicity _wanted_ to forget the times that it'd gone wrong. The one time that the one to turn on her had been a man she'd loved—a man whom she had no other reason to marry as such things became possible for others but ended with pain, smoke, fire and another death for her. She wanted to forget those betrayals, especially _that_ betrayal. Wanted to remember that the man walking her to her car now so he could be sure she got there safety hadn't had anything to do with that. But it wasn't easy...maybe it wasn't meant to be easy. All the same, it did feel right.

Her car greeted her with that soft ' _chirp-chirp!_ ' as Felicity unlocked it, only needing to reach into her pocket for the keys to do so, not trying to shed the coat again till they came to a stop right next to it.

Oliver's arm left her shoulders a second after they got there, making her feel a little colder right away even though he didn't take his coat back as he opened her door for her. "Keep it," he tried to tell her when she started to shrug his warm coat off again.

Felicity ignored him, taking it off all the way as she reminded him, "We're at my car." Then she stubbornly held it out till he took it back with an eye-roll and a half-smile. "Thank you."

"Get some rest," he ordered again, tilting his head towards the car he was waiting for her to get into, her door still in hand. Not even starting to put his coat back on.

Obligingly Felicity climbed carefully in—she was still wearing the four-inch heels that her feet had been hating even when she was sitting down. She turned the engine on to get the heat going, but lowered her window as soon as he shut the door. "Not much chance of that," she told him, saying it only partially because it was true.

Mostly because she didn't want him to think she'd be sleeping as soon as she got home, because that was the sort of excuse that'd keep him from coming by if he did want to talk. She was tired enough for thinking straight to be hard though, doubly so with her brain doing somersaults over so many problems, so she didn't even try to think past the moment, just let herself start babbling because it'd made him smile before.

"Lot of excitement tonight. I kinda feel like I did that time I made the mistake of trying that thing that mixed some energy drink with espresso and vodka, which didn't even sound good but I tried it anyway, so maybe I'll be really, really tired later, but maybe you're right and exercise is the right idea—" she startled when his big, warm hand settled on her shoulder again, wondering when she'd looked away as she had to turn back to look up at him.

"Hey, take a deep breath," Oliver told her, watching her obey before going on. "You did great tonight. Everyone's okay. Even those bodyguards are going to be fine. Everything else," he jerked his towards the soon-to-be-club that hid his hideout. "We'll figure out later. Okay?"

It was; except wasn't she supposed to be the one comforting him?

Felicity nodded slowly. "Okay." She caught his hand when it left her shoulder this time, "Remember, if you want to talk..."

"Thank you, Felicity," he said again, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Good night."

She missed his warmth immediately, but smiled as she returned the farewell. "Good night." She closed the window, then put her car in reverse, still watching him more than the empty lot as she backed away.

Oliver just stood there watching back, his coat draped over one of those muscular arms, looking perfectly perfect and completely comfortable in just the long-sleeve shirt that happened to have a thermal hidden underneath. If she did decide to go for a run similar attire might be required, but she knew it wasn't just that.

Actually, for Felicity it was at least partially mental. Cold had never really bothered her before that time she'd frozen to death. Just remembering _that_ death made her shiver. It was one of those deaths that took a great deal longer for an Immortal with their Quickening burning away, but it could still happen. Eventually, the Quickening just gave up and let you die, going into a sort of hibernation till it was warm enough for them to wake again. Except any mortals with you wouldn't wake again, the spring thaw no help to their frozen forms.

Felicity shivered even more violently, shaking her head to try and throw another dark memory from her past off, stopping to turn the fan to high so that it'd start blowing warm air at her. Not hot, not yet. It took her mini-cooper a few minutes before the engine's heat could have hot air coming out of the vents on command, but it was still warmer than the fridge-like interior she'd gotten into.

Oliver was still standing there, watching her when she glanced up again after shifting from reverse into drive. Apparently he had no intention of leaving till he knew she was safely on her way, despite having already seen her into the vehicle that'd locked automatically the moment she'd started to drive.

That protectiveness still didn't bother her too much, it was still sweet and familiar. If he got on his bike to follow her home, however, he'd better put his coat on first and be coming to talk rather than just escort her all the way there...

He didn't get on his motorcycle. Instead he turned to walk back inside, finally shrugging the coat on once she could only see him in her rearview mirror as she turned onto the road.

Felicity couldn't bring herself to mind too much. A part of her did wish she'd stayed to watch him on the salmon ladder, or really whatever he decided to do to work off all the stress straining his mind like it was a foe he could physically fight off via raw exertion. But that was the part that was addicted to the pheromones, the physical magnetism; the part that she shouldn't really trust on its own.

Plus, Felicity had her own stresses to work off. Plenty of them. And that would never work in that basement. Maybe once—or, well, _if_ —even some of her secrets could come out. Maybe even after she started learning 'self-defense' tricks down there, though only to a point then. What point, really, would be the dilemma then and there, but not yet.

For now, she had to drive home. Park her car. Finally change out of this Goth getup she hadn't worn since the nineties and wash all the makeup off. Then she could change into running clothes—the winter ones that included thermal lining—and run for at least a little while. On the off chance that Oliver did stop by, she'd have to stay close to the house, but her neighbors were used to occasionally seeing her out running at odd hours. Usually very early hours, rather than really late ones, but not always.

Running was one of Felicity's own physical forms of meditation that was particularly effective when she had way too much on her mind and needed to make her brain just stop for a bit. There probably weren't enough hours left in the night to outrun all of her thoughts, certainly not before she might have company. Then again, she might not have company. And even if Oliver did take her up on her offer of a friendly ear, he was headed back inside to beat up equipment or jump up the salmon ladder for a bit, and that sometimes went on for hours—though hopefully even he was tired enough to recognize he had to sleep tonight, too. Either way, she should be able to chase some of her own thoughts away, at least enough to get some sleep herself...

XXX.

* * *

 _Oliver Queen's P.O.V_.

After everything, Oliver wasn't sure he should knock on her door. Again.

 _My dad's going to be okay, thanks to you..._

 _Were you ever going to tell me?_

Should he have lied?

Repeated repetitions up and down the salmon ladder hadn't helped him find that answer, so in the end he was just left with the other key thought that'd kept circulating.

 _I'm free. If you want to talk._

Maybe he should be thinking more about Diggle, who'd just learned that his brother's killer wasn't as dead as they'd thought. Wasn't dead at all. But they couldn't chase Deadshot around the world, scouring for any place he might be: there were just far too many. So they could only wait for the assassin's next return to Starling. And they would be. Waiting.

Going back to the hospital to see if Tommy was sleeping in his dad's hospital room wasn't nearly as impossible. But it probably wouldn't lead anywhere good.

So instead Oliver was here, standing on Felicity's stoop and contemplating her door.

"Hey," the familiar, slightly breathless voice made him jerk around.

He was honestly shocked to find Felicity coming up behind him, her feet evidently as soundless on the pavement as his when she was wearing sneakers instead of heels.

"You okay?" she asked, her pretty face all concern.

Oliver, meanwhile, was frowning at her. "What are you doing out this late?" His frown deepened when she shrugged.

"I went for a jog."

"At midnight?"

Felicity rolled her eyes as she stepped around him and led the way up her stairs. She slipped her key out of her pocket as she climbed the steps, and unlocked the door before answering evenly, "You're one to talk, Oliver." She hurried on before he could come up with a retort that didn't sound too angry. "It's not something I normally do. I just... had to clear my head. You know? Like you wanted to do extreme exercises earlier? Only a little less extreme, in my case."

She said it like it made complete sense. Like the first step to playing hostess here wasn't closing the door behind him as soon as he'd entered. Like she wasn't relocking it now behind them and turning to reset her security system—instead of just turning it off—because she lived near enough to the Glades for an unlocked door to be dangerous. Like maybe not locking that door wouldn't be just as risky as running anywhere near the Glades in the middle of the night.

"So, did you hear anymore from Tommy? About his dad? Or, you know..." she asked, clearly trying to turn his attention from her unsafe activity to his problems.

Oliver answered even though he'd been more than a little relieved that she'd dropped it earlier. Then again, those very questions had everything to do with why he was here now, even though finding Felicity outside when he'd been thinking she'd probably be dragging herself out of bed if he knocked on her door wasn't at all how he'd expected this to start. "Tommy's dad'll be fine. Tommy... he's upset."

"Of course he is," the blonde nodded, her tone saying that should be obvious. "He almost lost his dad today. Or, yesterday, really." Felicity looked at him for a moment, then nodded again. "And you couldn't have expected him to react well to..." she made an all-encompassing gesture in his direction with her right hand while unzipping her windbreaker with her left.

"No... I never wanted to tell him," Oliver admitted, his briefly forgotten frown returning as unzipping the windbreaker revealed a tasteful sports bra that would look less out of place for jogging if she hadn't been shivering too much to hide just a little while ago. Then again, the windbreaker probably had thermal lining, just like the form-fitting leggings that still emphasized every curve did.

Just how well the snug, sporty outfit emphasized her figure made his frown deepen; even the windbreaker had hugged her curves tightly before she'd unzipped it. It was enough for Oliver to notice when he wasn't looking, so it'd be more than enough for most other men with eyes. Far too many of them could be the kind that were known for being too prevalent in the Glades, as the barely-there police presence in the area and the general lack of legitimate jobs made too many turn to alcohol, drugs and crime.

And not just organized crime, but the kinds of crimes that the Hood had to stop if he happened upon it.

The kinds of crimes that sometimes made the vigilante think that Diggle might be right, and maybe he should attempt more basic crime-fighting no matter how little he'd be able to stop in general.

The kinds of crimes that weren't infrequent in the Glades these days, and really made running at night a risk he never would've thought his genius stupid enough to make. Out running, without even her purse for someone to snatch instead, there was really only one thing that far too many men might want to steal from her. And how little she was wearing under her thermal jacket would only encourage them.

"I wasn't running _in_ the Glades, you know," Felicity told him, again before he could speak himself, an amused grin tilting her features into a slightly teasing expression.

"It's after midnight," Oliver reminded her, shaking his head as he spotted her clock. "No, it's almost one. It's not—"

"So there's fewer people out," she shrugged as she started turning a few more lights on.

Which only allowed him to see her top more clearly as she moved around the room and started lighting candles for some reason. It wasn't that the sports-bra was in any way inappropriate or distasteful, but the dark material clung to every curve it covered, effectively hiding nothing as the swirling green patterns caught the eye...

And the fact that there was a lot of the same shades of green as his Hood in there was something Oliver suddenly couldn't miss anymore than her earring. With her golden hair pulled into a ponytail, the only way that green arrow could stand out anymore was if she actually started pointing at it.

Felicity spoke up again once she was apparently done with the candles that were already making the room smell faintly like what he'd thought was her subtle perfume. He'd notice the scent when he was here before, but had never made the connection to the candles. "So, Digg's brother was killed by the same guy that someone hired to kill Mister Merlyn?"

Oliver blinked, again surprised, this time because it wasn't something he'd ever expect her to just bring up.

Yes, just like the new problem with Tommy, it had everything to do with why he was here, but he hadn't really thought she'd be so direct about it. Then again, this girl seemed to be full of surprises that just kept coming, and it wasn't surprising that setting a problem like Deadshot aside for the future didn't mean she stopped thinking about it anymore than he had.

Oliver couldn't think of anything to say regarding her running right now that didn't sound hurtful, demeaning, or both just in his head, so he went with it. Besides, she deserved to know more about the international assassin they'd be hunting at some point. "Yeah. Floyd Lawton." He watched her walk into her kitchen, following slowly after a second. "Interpol calls him Deadshot."

"And you and John thought he was dead?" the hacker fished as she opened her fridge and grabbed a water bottle. "Want one?"

"No, thank you," he shook his head, and sighed. "And yes. We thought I'd killed him."

That brought her big blue eyes back to him, watching him intently even as she unscrewed her bottle's cap and started drinking while he explained.

"He was in Starling last year," he clarified, waiting for the realization, the memory, to click in her eyes. She had heard his name back then after all.

But there was no moment of realization; Felicity just nodded. "At the UNIDAC auction. Warren Patel hired him?"

"And I put an arrow in his eye." Oliver didn't let his gaze narrow as he realized that she already knew. Making him wonder exactly what else she might've dug up while she was waiting for them to come back to the Foundry. "Not something most people survive, but apparently he did."

"Oh..." Felicity considered that as she took another sip of water, then shook her head as she put the cap back on the bottle and set said bottle on the counter he hadn't bothered to walk around because doing so would've crowded her in the tiny space that was really more of a kitchenette than a kitchen. "Why would someone pay for an assassin like him to go after Digg's brother? What did he do?"

"He was a bodyguard," Oliver shrugged. "Deadshot was after his client—hit him instead."

Felicity's frown deepened at that. "The police actually admitted you helped with the sniper back then." She shook her head. "They knew he wasn't just some whacko. That he was a professional. I mean, Interpol was still investigating it when the Dodger showed up months later, but the S.C.P.D made the connection that same night. And an anonymous source there said a lot more people could've died if not for _your_ help. So I'm guessing you were the informant there?"

The vigilante couldn't deny that, so he just nodded. Though the anonymous comment from the S.C.P.D to the media was a surprise. Mainly because it couldn't really have come from anyone other than Quentin Lance, but also because it wasn't something he'd ever noticed himself. Sure, he'd been busy saving Digg, and trying to talk him around while also helping Laurel save an innocent man from death row right before Lance found the security footage Oliver had all but gift wrapped for him and arrested him as planned. All the same, he'd thought he'd done a pretty good job keeping up on the 'vigilante news' so to speak, but apparently he'd missed that bit.

Much less surprising was the fact that Felicity hadn't missed it. But that wasn't really what she was questioning here.

Oliver really hadn't put much thought into what'd happened to Andrew Diggle Senior. After all, the man was murdered years ago. But Felicity had clearly been putting thought into it, so her confusion made him think over it again. "Deadshot's not known for missing—that's where his alias came from."

Which kind of made him glad no one had started calling him something like 'bulls-eye,' but that was neither here nor there. And 'The Hood'—like he was a modern Robin Hood—wasn't much better. He sighed. "It might be worth looking into."

"Without telling Digg?" Felicity asked, not looking too bothered by the idea. Like she might've been expecting that, too.

Oliver hadn't brought her into this side of his life until he'd really had no other choice, his lifeblood literally leaking out leaving no other option. But there were times, like now, that made him wonder how much longer it would've been before she'd figured it out herself.

Or if maybe she already had, even before he fell into her car with a G.S.W. That maybe was why she'd brought him her copy of the List and asked if she could trust him. He couldn't be sure, because he couldn't remember all of that night clearly enough to really remember her reaction beyond the expected babbling after the fact.

She'd helped, and chosen to stay, that was what was important then. And still was now, but it could be more.

"Not right away," Oliver answered, nodding decisively. "It might be nothing, and getting Digg even more worked up about his brother's killer would be..."

"Mean," Felicity opined as he trailed off, nodding her agreement even while the billionaire blinked at her word choice. "Okay. So I'll see what I can find about Andy Diggle's death."

"I know that it was after 2010. I think Digg worked with his brother when he first got back from overseas," Oliver told her, before shrugging. "Not sure if it was here in Starling or not."

"If it's online, I'll find it," the tech genius assured him, before rolling her shoulders. Even the one that he still couldn't check her injury on because her windbreaker kept it perfectly hidden from view. "I'm gonna go change. Make yourself comfortable," she ordered, gesturing at the room in general around him as he watched her go.

Remembering her injury again, however, and seeing as she was probably just going to cover it up even more, Oliver stepped in between her and the hallway that had to lead to her bedroom because it was the only way out of the room other than the front door or the windows. "Felicity, I really should take a look at your shoulder—"

"No," the blonde interrupted him firmly, twisting her torso away from him yet again so that the rest of her tiny body was between him and the wound he wanted to check. "I'm fine, Oliver. Really. I've kept it clean and I've been changing the bandages. There's no infection. It doesn't even hurt anymore." Her smile looked a little forced this time as she looked up at him, and it was all too clear in her eyes that she knew he was more than capable of reaching around her small frame to catch her shoulder if he wanted to. It was just as clear, though, that she knew he wouldn't because she'd said no. "Thank you, but you really don't need to worry about me. I'm a lot tougher than I look. Promise."

Oliver chuckled automatically when she echoed his earlier pledge back at him. He still wanted to check, to make sure her shoulder was healing alright. That it really wasn't hurting her anymore than could be avoided. That it'd soon be only a scar she shouldn't have rather than a clear slice through skin and muscle. But he couldn't make her show him her shoulder, not when she so clearly didn't want to, so he stepped aside and watched her walk to her bedroom, till she closed the door at the end of the short hall. Then he shook his head and made himself head go over to the same couch he'd fallen asleep on just a week ago.

He felt better, despite everything.

They hadn't talked about Tommy—not really.

They'd talked about their nighttime activities, and their concern for Digg, more. Work talk.

Her decision to go jogging at night, too, was a discussion he'd definitely revisit later. Or he might start checking to make sure she was tucking herself into bed when she went home, rather than changing into too flattering exercise clothes to go running around at night in what might be a foolish, unconscious effort to emulate him. Or both.

But still, he felt better. There was just something about Felicity Smoak... even with all the oddities he kept noticing, he couldn't help but appreciate her.

Sounds from the wall had Oliver glancing at it, after a moment recognizing that it was water moving in pipes—she was taking a shower. The realization would have had his mind wandering a lot more a few years back, when he would've more seriously thought about trying to join her; maybe not recognizing till an angry response from the girl herself that she wasn't that kind of girl. The sort of situation he only found himself in a few times, but had been able to repair with apologies, smiles and a few actual dates before he'd moved on.

Then the lights flickered—for a long moment only the softly scented candles lighting the room—and it was enough of a distraction for him to force his mind away from thoughts of Felicity with bubbles slipping over her skin. Enough so that, when the water shut off barely a minute later he was deliberately studying the books around her living room.

He'd noticed all the bookshelves the last time he was here, of course. They were there to be noticed, but he'd only seen them as a part of the room when he'd been busy worrying about—and trying to comfort—Felicity after the Dodger incident. The memory of which still made his jaw clench and wish he'd done at least a bit more damage to the damn thief that thought of people as little more than bargaining chips. The thief that'd tried to use _Felicity_ that way.

Oliver deliberately started reading the titles of the displayed book spines then, and was surprised to realize just how many he recognized. A bunch of books by Jane Austen and J.R.R Tolkien—he knew the first name because she was a favorite of Laurel's, and he'd recognized references to Legolas in conjunction with the Lord of the Rings movies he'd seen as they'd come out.

There were countless other titles, too, some he'd never heard of but others that did look familiar. Not from reading them, no. He'd stopped reading the lists that various English teachers handed out about halfway through high school.

But at least half of the books here were the same books that were deliberately displayed back in the library at the mansion. 'The Classics.' Though where they were mostly just for show back home, here they'd clearly been read. Well cared for; none of the spines were actually cracked so their owner had handled them carefully enough to only leave a few visible folds in some of the more-used hard covers. Not surprisingly, he couldn't particularly picture Felicity wasting anything, so it was easy to imagine her taking much more care of her personal belongings than he ever did.

More surprising was the fact that the books were _all_ hard-covers. Sure, it was almost to be expected of the classical half—a whole lot of stuff by Shakespeare and the  Odyssey included—but the 'Twilight' book that looked to be part of a series was a hardcover, too. If that was the 'Twilight' that Tommy had told him he was better off not knowing about, well, one it had to have been made into a movie because Tommy was only a little better about actually _required_ reading than he was, and two, it was relatively recent.

Why would she bother buying them? Sure, e-readers were cutting-edge brand-new back when he left Starling City for his father's last, doomed voyage on _The Gambit_ , but he'd heard about them. His father, of course, had even had one on the boat. Oliver would've had one himself, without ever even needing to ask, if he'd demonstrated any interest in reading back then at all. (That was the sort of way his mother had tended to take care of him and Thea both, especially whenever their schedules didn't seem to be crossing.) Maybe they were expensive for an I.T girl's salary back then, but somehow Oliver couldn't see that stopping Felicity Smoak from getting one. So why would she then go through the added expense of buying books in hardcover anyway?

Never mind that he couldn't quite understand the setup. It was obviously deliberate: all of the authors with more than one work were grouped together, but Oliver didn't see any particular order other than that. Why would the ancient books like _The Illiad_ and _The Odyssey_ be up near the start of the top shelves while series that Tommy had told him he was better off not knowing about were near the end?

"Don't think you'd like the Twilight saga all that much," Felicity's voice startled him so much he barely stopped himself from actually jumping, controlling it just enough to only turn sharply, more than a little surprised to see her already halfway down the hall.

Clearly the walls weren't insulated enough to hide the sound of water in the pipes, but the inside doors didn't creak like the outer door had coming in. Just enough for a sharp ear like his to file it away, almost as useful a warning sound as Laurel's creaking fire-escape had been when the Triad tried to kill her. Though any intruder should have to make a lot more noise than that coming in as long as Felicity always followed what looked like the good habit of locking her door whether she was home or not. Her door had good locks, after all, the kind even experts like him would have trouble picking his way through. And her soft, shoeless footsteps were completely soundless on the carpeted floor as well.

Oliver still couldn't quite believe she'd surprised him so much though; aided by light clothing, carpeted floors and the relaxing atmosphere of her candlelit living room or not. He shook his head, "Tommy said the same thing a few months ago," he told her, cocking his head to the side as he watched her finish wrapping her hair up in a towel: tucking it on top of her head like a turban for while it was wet. Which only made him think of water and soap again, and when he'd been running his own hands through her hair earlier today, but he didn't let himself focus on that. "What's it about?"

"Girl falls in love with a vampire that doesn't like being a vampire, eventually becomes a vampire after giving birth to a half-vampire baby. Basically. There's a lot of other vampires, too, good and bad. And werewolves. One of which she might've ended up with instead, but her daughter turned out to be his soul mate." Felicity dropped down onto the sofa as she finished.

Oliver joined her there without really thinking about it, this time not surprised when she slid over to the spot right next to him, tucking herself under his arm without a word about it, though she did angle her towel-turbaned head back so that it rested more against the sofa than his shoulder and she had chosen to sit so that her hurt shoulder was the one farther away from him. The nonchalance in her tone was as reassuring as it was amusing as she finished.

"They made movies for all four books though, I think they're all on NETFLIX now. Anything you wanta watch?" she switched the angle of her head so that their eyes were meeting as she raised an eyebrow.

From the description, every single one of those movies had to be a chick flick, which Tommy would've ended up watching while catering to some girl that was good enough in bed to hold his interest for a while. Before Laurel, at least. That was what would've made him say, _You're_ _ **so**_ _better off not knowing_ , when it came up. Though he at least didn't have a little sister to drag him to those movies, too.

Then again, Tommy _had_ been trying to look after Thea, even that one time ARGUS brought Oliver back here for that different kind of hell that was being home but not. So maybe he had seen a few movies with Thea before she'd turned into a total teenage rebel. Especially if their mom had really shut herself completely away until Walter drew her out, like Thea said; if Tommy had any awareness of that, he would've tried to take care of Thea. It would've been too close to his own childhood abandonment post-tragic loss for him not to.

"Not really my thing," Oliver agreed, before smiling slightly. "Actually, movies didn't matter much to me before the Island, either. Let alone after."

Sure, he'd gone to more movie premieres than he could count from memory and some of those same sort of dates that would've had Tommy seeing the vampire movies, but he had more than enough fun in his own life back then, doing whatever and almost whoever he wanted, to really need to live vicariously through videos.

"Okay..." Felicity visibly considered that, and probably at least some of what he hadn't said—he could see the thoughts turning behind her vivid eyes.

Eyes that, once again, weren't hidden behind stylish glasses. And, thinking back, weren't when he ran into her coming back from her middle-of-the-night run, either. There were more than a few times he'd seen her reading her computer screen over the rims without any trouble, too.

Oliver cocked his head to the side as he considered her, then he decided to just state the obvious. "You're not wearing your glasses."

"No, I'm not," Felicity agreed unhelpfully, before asking him, "So do you want action, comedy, what?"

Oliver rolled his eyes, "You choose a movie, Felicity, really. I don't know enough to care."

Well, truth be told, he'd normally pick action—say if he were, for whatever reason, seeing a movie with Tommy. But he normally let girls choose whatever they wanted to watch, whether it was his sister or a girl he was interested in. Which he knew he was, though seduction really shouldn't be on his mind now. And it wasn't. Not really. He had come here just to talk, and even that much he hadn't actually planned. Still, he was intruding into her evening, invited or not, so it seemed only fair to let her choose. And he _was_ still completely out-of-date when it came to these things.

Felicity pursed her lips at his answer, "Well... let's see what NETFLIX recommends then," she decided, leaning over him to snatch the T.V remote off of the side table next to him, not seeming to care at all that she was completely in his personal space as she did so.

Not that he cared either, though the sweet scent of her shampoo filled his head for a second, despite the towel it was wrapped in. A soft floral smell he couldn't quite place, but it somehow reminded him of sunshine after a storm.

Oliver shook those thoughts off as she settled back in her place, remote directed at the flat-screen television across from them.

"You know," Felicity said with a sideways glance as the T.V came on and she selected the Netflix option from the menu. "You could take your coat off if you're not gonna run out the door before we've talked."

Oliver blinked, but obligingly stood up to remove the same coat he'd wrapped around her in the alley earlier, glancing at the coat-rack by the door as **NETFLIX** appear in bold white letters over an all red background on the T.V.

"Just put it on the chair," his hostess told him, smirking slightly when he looked back at her. "The door might be too tempting if you go all the way over there."

Oliver rolled his eyes even while he did lay the coat over the recliner that he should probably be sitting in, before returning to his former seat, wrapping his arm around her again when she deliberately leaned back into him as if to silently command it.

"I don't watch much T.V, per say," Felicity confessed then, clicking buttons on the remote that made the images of various movies—and apparently television shows—scroll on the screen. "Even news I tend to look for online these days."

Which was what she'd done with the Dodger case a week ago—though Oliver knew the whole thing in her little office in the I.T department was an effective setup. He'd known it at the time, too; she hadn't really tried to hide it, but he'd rolled with it anyway. No one could deny that the madman she'd brought to his attention was worth the look. And he really hadn't wanted her to completely cut herself off from him. From them. Him and Diggle.

"Well," the blonde went on when he didn't answer, "There's a whole slew of movies to choose from. All the _Marvel_ ones are a must if you haven't watched them yet."

"Marvel?" Oliver obligingly asked, thinking that he remembered the name from the comic books he'd occasionally glanced through as a kid, but he wasn't quite sure.

"Yeah, like the _Avengers_ ," Felicity jerked her head at the screen, where an image of an obvious action-movie bore that title. "But you have to watch _Iron Man_ , _The Incredible Hulk_ , _Iron Man 2_ , and _Captain America_ , first."

"Have to?" Oliver arched an eyebrow at her, a bit amused to think that she might be trying to keep him here all night—even if she really only intended to have him stuck in front of her television the whole time.

He knew better. She'd invited him to come over to talk, and against his better judgment he'd decided to take her up on it. The movie was just a prop, a distraction for whenever the discussion got too hard.

"Well, you don't _have_ to, but you should," his I.T girl corrected with a playful shrug that ended with a confident nod, even while she kept scrolling through titles. "Ooh, did you watch the _Bourne_ movies?"

Oliver thought a moment, still glancing between her glasses-free gaze and the television where she'd stopped scrolling on _The Bourne Ultimatum_ , starring Matt Damon. "Soldier with amnesia, right?"

"Assassin, really, but close enough," Felicity agreed with a quirk of her lips and a cute little wrinkle of her nose. "Did you see the first two?"

Oliver thought about it, vaguely recalling a Matt Damon movie where the man with no memory was rescued by fishermen and kept popping out kick-ass skills that'd impressed him at the time, but in retrospect, after all he'd been through, probably wouldn't look so impressive. He remembered a whole lot of posing. "Maybe. I know I saw the first one. What happened in the second?"

"Not good enough," Felicity declared, shaking her head in mock-disapproval that that actually made him grin. "Well then, what about the first Marvel movie? _Iron Man_?"

Oliver let his eyes skim over the summery that popped up with the faces of a few A-list actors in the obviously action image, but quickly realized why she might think he'd like this movie—and realized he'd prefer she didn't think he might've been inspired by some fictional superheroes to don the green Hood when his reality couldn't be farther from that. "Might be interesting, not really in the mood though," he finished without consciously deciding to, the honest answer coming easily even though he'd decided against having the movie choice drawn out of him.

"Hmm, yeah, I guess I can see why, plenty of fighting tonight already," the genius replied lightly, wrinkling her nose in that cute contemplative look again as she kept scrolling. "And maybe we should stay away from action movies in general for now, you get a lot more of that than most people."

Oliver couldn't deny that, so he stayed quiet. Truth be told, spy movies ranked right up there with movies about vigilantes in his mind, memories of ARGUS not something he wanted to ponder anymore than he did Tommy's reaction to seeing him beneath The Hood. That same reaction making it more than a little hard to consider his vigilantism anything akin to heroism, let alone superheroes.

He hadn't tried to have that argument with Felicity at all, it'd been hard enough trying to explain to Diggle why his desire to save Starling City and heroism had nothing in common. Something the ex-soldier hadn't really accepted even before he'd had to bring Felicity all the way into the team. And a very big part of him didn't like the idea of deliberately disappointing the I.T girl by trying to convince her he wasn't a hero of any kind. It might've partially been because of everything that'd come in between Digg and Felicity joining his mission, but after Oliver woke up on the med-table to see her standing there next to Digg, a part of him had thought it easier to try and live up to her expectations. Something that'd satisfied Diggle, of course, but Oliver had chosen to ignore the ex-soldier's silent, slightly smug approval.

"You should watch the new _Star Trek_ , too, though. It's great," Felicity went on, stopping for a second to indicate the movie that had a bunch of actors he didn't recognize from what he'd seen of the franchise in years prior, but before he could decide to comment she went on. "So's the sequel. And _Inception_ , too, though you really have to focus on that one. And—"

"Felicity," Oliver finally cut her off with a chuckle. "Just pick something you want to watch, okay? You can make a list of everything I've missed later."

It was refreshing though. Because Felicity was the only one he knew, other than Diggle, that was willing to not treat his five year 'absence' as a taboo subject. And even Digg had danced around it a bit at first, less so only after he found out the truth. Sure in their first meeting—the one where Felicity actually knew Oliver was there—she'd ended up babbling a bit about the _Gambit_ and his father, but her resulting embarrassment hadn't kept her from rescuing herself by turning her tongue towards why he happened to be by her cubicle.

A cubicle she no longer worked at because Walter had promoted her soon after. Her promotion taking her to a new office that, while tiny and overly air-conditioned, came with a bigger desk and direct access to the Q.C servers there. And the convenient ability to close the door when he and Diggle came calling during her work hours, which made perfect sense considering what Walter had had Felicity looking into himself.

"You realize you're giving me permission to pick a complete chick flick, right?" the grin she gave him was a cute mixture of wicked teasing and sincere pleasure, so Oliver only chuckled again.

"Do your worst."

"Okay," Felicity shook her head. "Well, I won't inflict _Twilight_ on you, because like I said, I doubt you like vampire romances all that much, or at all," she was muttering almost just to herself by the time she finished there, then she was grinning as she started scrolling again.

"So you really don't need your glasses?" Oliver asked her, really not caring what she was looking for enough to watch the screen instead of her.

"No."

"Then why do you wear them?" he asked, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure they're not a requirement in the Q.C dress-code." He knew they weren't, they couldn't be, because that would be both impractical and liable to a lawsuit.

Felicity sighed, "They make blending into the I.T department a little easier."

"'Blending in?'" Oliver repeated, not even trying to keep his surprise from his voice. "You're a computer genius, Felicity, why would you need glasses to 'blend in' in I.T?"

"Thank you," she answered with a slightly soured expression, but it faded as quickly as it came as she turned back to the T.V. "But I'm blonde and I like to wear skirts and dresses. Have to make some concessions to expectations at least."

He frowned at her, not liking what those words suggested at all.

"It really shouldn't surprise you to hear it, Oliver, but many men don't take pretty young women all that seriously," Felicity went on as the Disney theme started to play in the background, almost too softly for him to hear, but she didn't turn it up, though her eyes stayed intent on the screen as the movie started playing.

Oliver glanced at it, blinking as he realized that yes, she really had picked a Disney movie. But he really shouldn't be surprised—he had said she could pick a chick flick, cartoons weren't quite what he expected, but if it was something she was willing to watch and talk at the same time, it worked for him. He turned back to her as the narrator started talking, studying her less relaxed profile. "You're... happy at Q.C, right, Felicity?" he finally decided on that fairly safe phrase.

"Of course," the I.T girl immediately confirmed, flashing a bright smile straight at him, before turning back to the movie.

"And no one's bothering you?" Oliver tried again.

Felicity snorted, "Not since I was promoted, no. Though I'm not sure if that's because of the promotion, or you."

"Me?" Oliver frowned again, not sure if his inclusion in her work environment was a good thing or not then. "But we haven't—"

"Oliver, your family owns the company. You have to know your 'stopping by' is always noticed. By everyone who sees you, or hears about it in the break room, the elevator, or anywhere, later."

"Yeah..." He winced, because it was something he'd relied on when he first met her—knowing that no one in the I.T department would question him too much about the laptop because he was Oliver Queen.

The pretty, bespectacled girl that Walter had recommended as one of Q.C I.T's finest had been a surprise several times over. First, because he'd mentally justified his 'new' stepfather recommending one of the few female technical assistants at Q.C with the idea that the recently recovered playboy might be better for the company than an overgrown spoiled rich boy, but that tech girl being notably pretty was just asking for trouble... which, now that he thought about it, might be her point. Though if the glasses were meant to hide her looks, they didn't work. Still, he was glad that that trouble wasn't something he'd decided to try.

He might have, if his 'drunken' public speech about not being half the man his father was hadn't been enough to finally made his mother back down. Really, if that hadn't been enough a lawsuit from the first female employee he'd really interacted with probably wouldn't mean much either, but it'd be one more thing for her to fix. Fortunately, it hadn't been necessary to make his mom rethink her grand plan involving him anywhere near the running of the family company. Because he hated the idea of even thinking of treating Felicity that way, even though it probably wouldn't have worked.

He knew now that Felicity's reaction probably would've been much the same to what he'd initially gotten: some honest, unintended babbling that would've rendered her to real for him to deliberately offend, followed by a polite brush off if he'd tried asking her on a date with the idea of a one-night stand being the way to piss her off. Yes, she was the same girl who'd called his picture cute when she hadn't known he was watching from the shadows—but she was also too smart for those kind of games.

Still, she'd surprised Oliver again when he actually met her. Her employee profile, even with the intimidating I.Q, education credentials and mostly glowing reports wasn't enough to prepare anyone for her. Watching her talk to herself wasn't enough of a glimpse either. That was why he hadn't been prepared for her, or her questions, despite some effort in trying to be.

"It's one thing when you come in for a tour, or with your mom or Thea, or if you were there to see Walter. But when you keep showing up by yourself?" Felicity went on, shrugging as he looked at her again, but her eyes were on the T.V. "People talk, Oliver."

"But they're talking about you?" Oliver tried to clarify, a cold coil of guilt starting to curl in his gut. Hating himself even more because anything 'they' were saying now would've been so much worse under the circumstances he'd just been contemplating. "Just because I stopped by a few times?"

She shrugged again, still watching the movie that he hadn't glanced at since the Disney opening animation had appeared. "Gossip's how most people survive the conundrum of the day-to-day."

Oliver glanced at the movie as the soft, sweet singing suddenly turned into the stomping and shouting of a cartoon fight-scene, but turned his focus back to Felicity quickly. "But they've been bothering you at work?"

Gossip was something he was familiar with, of course; bad-boy Oliver Queen had been the focus of the paparazzi and the tabloids in Starling City for years before he went off on the _Gambit_. He'd learned to live with it, refusing to let it bother him at all because if it did, then they'd won, hadn't they? That was his mindset as a teenager and later a frat boy.

The media attention wasn't unexpected returning, either; in fact, he'd planned to use it—and his party-crazy, playboy image—to keep people from focusing on what he really did with his time. What he hadn't taken into account was that gossip and the like wasn't exclusive to the rich and famous. So, without really trying to, his reliance on this bright girl had apparently hurt her.

But Felicity was shaking her head as she looked back at him. "No," she hurried on before he could say anything else. "Really, they're not. It's just gossip, Oliver."

Oliver held her gaze for several long seconds, a little surprised she didn't turn away again to break eye-contact.

Instead she stared steadily back, her big blue eyes sincere as a small smile shaped her lips. "It's sweet of you to worry, but really I'm fine," Felicity reassured him, shaking her head again. "You're the one that's fighting with your best friend right now."

Oliver sighed, "Yeah, well... it's not unexpected."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "I could say the same about office gossip."

"You could," Felicity allowed, then rolled her shoulders again, wincing as the motion pulled at the injury she still wouldn't let him look at.

Making Oliver frown again. He'd seen her shrug or roll her shoulders several times since the last—and only—time she'd let him and Diggle check the wound. The movements hadn't seemed to bother her much, even when she'd refused to keep icing it back in the basement, which was the main reason he and Digg were willing to drop it then. If it really didn't hurt enough to be bothering her it was healing better than they ever could've expected, even though the red on the bandages had looked like fresh blood. Like a _lot_ of fresh blood. That long line of red had looked like it should've required stitches to him, but it wouldn't have closed so well on its own if that were the case. That even a small cut looked large on her just because she was so small. So he'd had to accept it was just that she'd been hurt that was bothering him.

More than bothering him. The idea that someone had hurt her and she hadn't wanted to tell him and Digg out of some misplaced need to not show weakness or something like that would continue to fuel his inner masochist for at least a few punishing workouts to come. Not that he'd needed more fuel there; he had more than enough guilt for that, from before Lian Yu, on it, and after.

Turning up the heat in the basement seemed like the least he could do, when she let it slip that she found it cold. Though why she hadn't just said so before, or just hacked his email again and added something about improving the insulation for heat as well as sound, Oliver really didn't understand. It wasn't like he cared about the money.

He didn't _need_ anything more than the stark, base atmosphere to keep in shape and hideout while he was planning his ongoing mission name by name. What's more, it felt like something he deserved, just as every moment on the Island sometimes did.

But Oliver couldn't imagine this bubbly blonde ever doing anything that'd merit harsh punishment of any kind. That was why he'd already setup an appointment for a better heating system to be installed in the basement, supposedly to support the club as well, but the trick there was that they had to make it look like the basement wasn't used for anything. So: _future_ appointment.

"But in this case you'd be wrong." Felicity spoke up again, her eyes on the movie that she'd apparently been watching while he thought, barely noticing the sounds from the speakers—another cartoon fight—as background noise. "A few people always bad-mouth others when they get promoted, most others are just curious." The I.T girl grinned at him then. "Not that you'd know that from _working_ , of course."

"No, I couldn't," Oliver snorted in amused agreement, glancing at the screen as the crashing and smashing stopped.

 _"And you... are?"_

 _"Giselle."_

 _"Oh, Giselle! We shall be married in the morning!"_

Oliver blinked, "Didn't they just meet?" he asked, sure of at least that much since watching movies with his sister had always run the risk of her actually checking to make sure he knew what was going on and giving him the silent treatment for days if he didn't pass. Back before she turned into a teenager while he was away. Even for Disney, that seemed pretty fast to him.

"There's a lot of that here; it's a bit of a parody of every other fairy tale." Felicity giggled as they watched the animated couple burst into song and ride off into the sunset.

The appearance of the lady in dark colors probably meant happily ever after hadn't, in fact, been found in the first five minutes of the movie. Clearly confirmed by the dark lady bursting into flames while she screeched, _"Never!"_

"Okay..." Oliver nodded, then chuckled as he turned back to her. "Did you pick a cartoon just because I didn't start whining when you threatened me with a chick flick?"

"No," Felicity answered him in a more serious tone. "I picked this because it's funny and sweet, two things I think we both need tonight." Then she shrugged. "And it won't be a cartoon much longer."

That made Oliver blink again. "Wait, what?"

"They'll end up in the real world soon." Felicity explained.

Well, that was new, the billionaire allowed. At least none of the cartoons Thea had puppy-eyed him into watching years ago had tried that.

But her serious answer including herself made him look back at Felicity again anyway.

"Then what's bothering you, if it's not the office gossip?" Oliver tried asking her.

"Well, everything tonight wasn't a picnic for me either, you know." The tech girl's chuckle erased any sort of edge to the words, then she sighed. "Life in general, too," she shook her head before he could try to prod. "I don't feel like talking about work, but," she arched an eyebrow at him. "We could talk about why you were so upset by Tommy's birthday party?"

Oliver blinked at her. "What?"

"After the party, you were wound tight as a jack-in-the-box," Felicity told him. "And you didn't even know Merlyn was the target then. Not yet."

Oliver thought back on it, then admitted, "I didn't like seeing Tommy so at odds with this dad," he shook his head. "He always was, growing up. I was used to it then, never questioned it. But after watching my dad die... and everything. It just seems like a waste." He grimaced. "Not that that's gonna get any better with them now."

Actually, given everything Tommy had been through tonight, it kind of surprised Oliver that his friend had been able to... well, _not_ react as well as he did. Then again, his father's cold treatment of him in the past—even before he cut him off—had definitely taught Tommy Merlyn how to just shut down. Something that couldn't quite work with his father, not when he'd almost died just a few hours ago. But the friend that knew he could trust him but had never wanted to tell him his secret anyway? Yeah, the hard question and its unwanted answer were probably as deserved by Oliver as the shutdown he likely gave his dad when the older Merlyn had crashed his birthday dinner.

Oliver decided not to mention how oddly _Felicity_ had reacted to Tommy's father's arrival—or the fact that her reaction had had his gut convinced she was in danger as a result. Because nothing had happened. He'd been on the lookout every moment, the tension in her shoulders and the worry she'd kept hiding with slow sips of water keeping him on edge even as her bright smiles and artful directing of the conversation had silently said everything was alright as she made more effort than the rest of them combined at making sure the evening went well. Except there, on the way out, back to the Foundry and even the whole impromptu operation at _Merlyn_ _Global_ ; nothing had happened. Even now, when she'd just decided to go for a run in the middle of the night, despite her only living a few blocks away from the Glades, and in an area that was just suburban enough that it wouldn't be easy for the Hood to patrol the rooftops on. Even if that was something he could start doing on a regular basis, which it wasn't. Still, it didn't make it easy not to worry.

"That makes sense," Felicity smiled at him, then tilted her head back at the screen. "They're about to go to New York."

So Oliver turned back to watch as the fairytale princess was pushed into the magic wishing well by an old hag that immediately transformed into the evil witch they'd seen earlier, who started crowing her victory.

It was as they were watching the princess—now a live actress he vaguely recognized in glittering frills—stumble around the big city that Oliver remembered Digg's complaints regarding their new teammate. Even with everything that'd happened tonight, after all, it was still important.

"Digg said you didn't want to start self-defense lessons?" he tried to make the question sound casual, but got a sour look for it anyway.

"What's the point? You'd rather I stayed at the computer anyway." Felicity's grimace said as much as her unhappy words did.

"That's not what we said," Oliver objected, frowning again, even as he again pushed the objections about the jog she'd already brushed off to the back of his mind. "Not what either of us said. And not learning some self-defense won't make us want you out in the field again. It was enough of a risk this time; and no one dangerous should have been in play when you were at M.G." He pointed out.

Though with the memory of her with that bomb collar locked under her chin still fresh in his mind, he doubted he'd want to risk her near danger of any kind anytime soon. Or ever. That she seemed to think flirting—plus flashing those bright smiles of hers and probably some skin—was a required part of maintaining her 'cover' today hadn't helped.

Not that listening to _that_ would've necessarily been much easier even if he knew she could defend herself even a little. _Or_ the fact that he had just come here to find her coming back from a midnight jog...

"Yes, Diggle said that, too," Felicity told him, clearly unimpressed, her gaze on the T.V once more. "You have him well trained."

"I..." Oliver shook his head. "It's not training, Felicity, it's common sense." He glanced back at the screen himself, blinking as he realized he'd clearly missed the introduction of at least one new character, because the princess was nowhere in what was apparently a divorce lawyer's office.

"Yes, because telling any woman she doesn't have the right to make her own choices make _so_ much _sense_ ," Felicity replied dryly. She looked at him as she asked, "And my part in today went as well as could be expected, right?"

"No—I mean, yes, it did," Oliver took a slow breath, then tried again. "We're not trying to offend you, Felicity. We just don't want you to end up at the mercy of another criminal."

The creep she'd been all but running away from today hadn't been a factor they could have anticipated, but there was a reason Oliver didn't put too much stock in planning everything out. Some things you could control, could predict, but the unknown wasn't one of them. It could pitch plenty of curve balls at you, and a single strike could shatter your plans completely, so sometimes it was just easier to keep winging it. Not always, there were occasions and situations that required planning, but whichever situation was the case, Oliver didn't think he'd ever be able to accept Felicity volunteering herself for work outside of the Foundry with anything better than the straightest face he could manage.

"That could happen whether I'm helping you or not, you know," the blonde pointed out swiftly, throwing her hands wide, which made her grimace and more carefully relax her unhappy shoulder even as she went on insistently. "I could go to the wrong A.T.M someday and get robbed coming out, or walk into a convenience store during a stick-up—though why anyone thinks robbing a store that sells mostly gas and cigarettes is an especially lucrative idea, I've never understood."

"That's... true," the archer allowed with a grimace, because bad things did happen to normal people every day. "But working with us—if we took you into the field, you'd be around that sort of stuff much more than most—"

"Not if you're just going after corrupt one-percenters, plus the occasional psychopath, assassin, and/or robber," the blonde observed.

"Someone _did_ hurt you, Felicity." Oliver growled, jerking his chin at her shoulder, which with her right next to him was within easy reach of the hand he had resting near it, but he hadn't tried to. Not when trying to check it could result in her falling from the couch in her haste to escape. So he just sighed. "And you nearly died last week."

"But I _didn't_ , Oliver," she shot back, shaking her head yet again. "I _didn't_ die. Just like _you_ didn't die. Because of me—and Mister Diggle, but he would've found out about you being under arrest at the hospital, or dead, if you hadn't stumbled into my car right as I was leaving work."

"That's true," the vigilante admitted—because he'd only stumbled into her car as a last resort.

The cell phone he'd had on him had also taken a bullet that night, making calling Digg for backup with the police crawling all over Q.C all but impossible. And he was losing blood too fast, making the odds of his passing out and being found by the cops too likely a possibility, especially as his gunshot wound had kept pumping out blood that was scenting the air for police K9's to follow even if he wasn't leaving a physical trail at that point.

Felicity walking to her car had seemed like a godsend when he spotted her, so much so he hadn't thought twice about ducking into the back of her car as soon as she'd unlocked it. The doubts had come after that, as he was trying to catch his breath. The worry of what she'd do—of how terrified she might be—at finding the infamous vigilante in the back of her car made his first words to her have to be a promise of no ill intentions even as his life bled away.

"And?"

Oliver shook his head, "And what?"

Felicity crossed her arms as she leaned back into the couch, frowning deeply. "That doesn't tell you that I might be useful outside of technical work? When I was in _Merlyn Global_ today," she actually stopped her rant for one very visible moment of hesitation that had him remembering again how she'd practically run away from the creepy computer guy that he wouldn't have liked even if the creep hadn't been too interested in 'Erika' for any of them to be comfortable. "Everything went fine, in the end."

Oliver closed his eyes, but decided to go with it because he really didn't want to upset her more. "Like I said, Felicity. We're not trying to offend you. We just want to keep you safe."

"Thank you," the exasperated edge was somehow softened from her voice as she replied more quietly. "I do appreciate that, but—"

"And I know you can do more than computer work," Oliver interjected before she could get going again. "But if you want us to let you help more than that, you're going to have to let us teach you how to keep yourself safe first." He kept his voice even, reasonable.

Despite his certainty that he wouldn't want her following him around in her own hood-ensemble even if she quickly became as skilled as Shado had been. After all, Shado had been murdered right in front of him.

"That's... logical," Felicity decided, though the careful way she'd studied him first made him wonder if she really could read him that well despite their relatively short acquaintance.

Oliver didn't think he was that easy to read, no matter how bad he was at lying—to her especially. But Felicity seemed to see through him every time. Before he'd pulled the Hood back and asked her to help him survive being shot by his mother, she'd been willing to just give him a blink, a bemused smile, a headshake, or a few long looks, before just doing whatever it was he needed done and letting it go. Since then, not so much—with the just letting go, at least. Though he couldn't really say he minded. Not when sincerity, kindness and wanting to help seemed to shine from her every pore.

Felicity bit her lip, drawing his attention back as she nodded so slowly he might've imagined it if her words weren't also agreement. "Okay. I'll do some lessons."

Reluctant agreement, but agreement nonetheless.

More relief than Oliver ever could've expected rushed right through him, and he felt his body relax just a little without his conscious brain telling it to anymore than he actually decided to smile. Then again, with everything that'd gone wrong tonight, and everything that could still be paving the path to hell, maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that the idea of at least one good thing was penciled into the days to come felt good.

"Thank you," he told her, holding her gaze for a second before nodding decisively. "Digg can get started with you tomorrow," he told her, sure that the ex-soldier would be all too happy to do so.

Diggle had been trying to get her to just take a few lessons with him, at least as a starting point, before the near disastrous night with the Dodger. Oliver hadn't tried to intervene at all because he hadn't really thought he could help. But he was more than a little pleased at the outcome even as the dialogue onscreen made him frown a little.

Though he supposed it was a good thing that he knew who both the talking characters were—the divorce lawyer and the fairytale princess, apparently back at the lawyer's office now. How had that happened? Weren't they heading to the lawyers home before? When did the next day start?

 _"Those people are in real pain."_

 _"Well, of course they're in pain. They're separated_ _ **forever!**_ _They're married one day, and the next they're not. What sort of_ _ **awful**_ _place is this?"_

 _"It's reality."_

The words were painfully pointed; and though he was barely watching the look on the princess's face hit home even when he was barely paying attention to the movie. Because it was a look that he'd probably missed seeing on Thea's hopefully later into her teenage years rather than at the empty casket funeral she'd spoken of when she'd showed him the tombstones he'd watched her talk to but not really understood watching from the bushes, not when he'd watched Tommy scare off a drug dealer seconds later.

Though that conversation, really, had illustrated to him how hard losing him and dad had hit his sister. She wasn't the sweet little girl he remembered, and it wasn't just because she'd grown a foot and replaced the pigtails with partying, drinking and drugs despite Tommy's best efforts.

Oliver still remembered that conversation as clearly as the ones being acted out on the television now.

 _"You shouldn't grow up too fast." That Tommy was really trying couldn't be denied, but teenage Thea wasn't having any of it._

 _"Yeah? Well you're not my brother."_

 _"You're right, no I'm not." Tommy had nodded, still trying to get through to her. "But I think about him every single day. And for the first time, I'm glad he's gone. 'Cause seeing you like this would break his heart."_

 _The disbelief on her baby-fat-free-face had hurt just as much as her scoffed, "It's funny how Ollie seems to care more about me now that he's dead than he did when he was alive."_

"I've done some, uh, training before," Felicity's admission made Oliver look at her in surprise. He was more than a little relieved to be drawn out of those unhappy memories, though her eyes stayed on the movie as she finished. "With swords."

" _Swords?_ " Oliver stared, sincerely surprised. Because Slade's weapon-of-choice wasn't something he would've imagined in Felicity's fast-typing hands. Ever.

"I never, um, competed in actual tournaments or anything," Felicity went on to explain with a shrug that made her wince again as she moved her hurt shoulder. "But I'm not—I wasn't bad at it."

At fencing, obviously, Oliver realized. A sport he'd tried a few times with Tommy, who's father insisted he master it years ago, but quickly grown bored with himself. Thus why Slade had declared him completely hopeless with the weapon for a long while on the Island. Never mind that most of that time he was sparring with bamboo, not a blade.

"That's... helpful," he replied carefully, forcing his eyes to stay locked on her face so he didn't look at her shoulder. As he wouldn't be able to see her injury at all, anyway, and it could look like he was staring at her chest, something he shouldn't do, no matter how often her own appreciative eyes made him grin. "It's not like you can carry a sword around everywhere, but it should help you pick up dodging and whatnot."

"No, today's fashion isn't great for concealing swords, and openly wearing them went out ages ago, so..." Felicity agreed, an edge of amusement in her voice that was also on the edge of her lips when he looked at her again. "Then again, you're helping in the attempt to bring the bow and arrow back, so who knows, that might change again. Or maybe they'll actually manage to make real lightsabers. Eventually."

That entire babble was too peculiar for Oliver to think of a response, other than refuting the bow and arrow comment, but the glint in her eyes told him she'd only tease him more along those ridiculous lines if he tried, so Oliver sought a slightly safer topic, "So you wear your glasses to make you look more... nerdy?"

Felicity actually laughed. "Something like that. It works."

Oliver forced a smile, still trying to not look at her shoulder, though his worries about her injury were now mixing with the circling thoughts about her workplace environment.

After all, it wasn't like Felicity had started wearing the glasses after she first met him and whatever gossip she 'didn't care about' started. And she'd specifically said no one had bothered her _since_ her promotion, maybe because of him. So someone was bothering her before that? Bothering her more than she claimed the recent gossip could? The idea wasn't something he could ignore.

"Q.C doesn't allow harassment, of _any_ kind," Oliver reminded her quietly, eyes turned towards the television but not really seeing the movie. "If someone's bothering you—"

"Oliver—"

"You don't have to tell me if you're worried about me aiming an arrow at them. But you should report them to your supervisor—or H.R. That's what they're there for," he finished the point calmly, not letting himself react part-way through when one side of her lips twitched down when he said 'supervisor.'

"Work is _fine_ , Oliver," Felicity told him firmly. "Thank you for your concern, but you don't have to worry about me. Or arrow anyone for me." She held his gaze for several seconds, then her eyes went back to the movie, so his did, too.

At least he still sort of knew who both characters were, though he'd missed the divorce lawyer's entrance he was obviously the lead, at the moment trying to make himself abandon the princess on her own in Central Park... because there were so many ways _that_ could turn out well. Granted, it was easy to see why any normal person would just assume the woman was crazy rather than several Disney princesses spun into one, but somehow Oliver didn't like the sight of the girl walking away anymore than the reluctant hero did, even though him changing his mind and running after her had to be expected.

Of course now he was wondering if Felicity had picked this movie just as much because it had its heroes and would ultimately have a happy ending. It had to; it was a kids movie. Exactly the sort of thing Thea would've wanted to see before she was into emulating Oliver's worst qualities as a teenager.

 _"So, what's the deal, with this prince of yours? How long you two been together?"_

 _"Oh, about a day."_

 _"You mean it feels like a day because you're so in love?"_

 _"No. It's been a day," was the girl's honest answer, just as happily carefree as before._

 _And it understandably had the lawyer staring at her for a solid second before he protested. "You're kidding me. A day?_ _ **One**_ _day?"_

 _"Yes," the girl nodded happily. "And tomorrow will be_ _ **two**_ _days."_

"Oh, damn!" Felicity's spine suddenly straightened as she tried to bolt upright, but fell back into the curve of his arm with a gasp as the sudden movement strained her shoulder too far.

Even startled, Oliver had shifted to catch her as gently as possible, glancing at her shoulder again, before again making himself look at her face instead. Recognizing that the expression frozen there was more annoyance than pain, his concern mostly gave way to confusion. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Felicity sighed, and the sheer irritation in her voice would've exposed that as a lie even if her actions of a moment before hadn't, too. "I just remembered something is all." When she met his worried gaze, she sighed again while one hand went to trying to fix the towel that was starting to look less like a turban. "It's nothing, really. I just left my phone in the Hood Hideout."

"We're not calling it that either," Oliver objected automatically, half wondering why she kept trying to name the basement. And why such a brilliant woman couldn't seem to recognize the risks in any name that so clearly associated any location and anyone who said it with the vigilante that the S.C.P.D were still hunting and Starling's criminals would gladly kill. Instead of asking that, he shook his head. "It's Sunday. You'll have all day to pick it up."

"Assuming you or Digg don't kill it first," Felicity grumbled, still trying to wrestle the towel into an ersatz turban again with one hand because his hold on her elbow kept her from jerking her injured limb.

"What?" Oliver asked, blinking in confusion all over again.

Why would she think they'd do anything to her phone? The main reason for involving her in his mission in the first place had more to do with the real need for her technical expertise than it did with the smile she'd surprised out of him more than once. With her acting as a full team member—at least until Walter was found, however _that_ turned out—the archer and soldier would have no logical reason to meddle with any of the tech. Least of all _her_ personal phone. In fact, Oliver was pretty sure it was a safe bet that something like that might drive her away much faster than his adrenaline-fueled irritation leading to anymore unwarranted (and ineffective) attempts at physical intimidation would.

Felicity finally gave up on saving the turban, instead helping the towel fall with a yank that had her still slightly damp golden strands tumbling down around her face and shoulders, before she sighed softly, "It's on top of the Wing—the attack dummy. Well, one of them. The one that was out last night."

"The Wing-Chun dummy?" Oliver confirmed her aborted attempt at its proper name, while silently wondering why those gold locks laying on his arm, which was still wrapped around her, was so noticeable. The soft, flowery scent that reminded him of sunshine was stronger, too—so it was definitely her shampoo. But he made himself ignore that, again, focusing on his honest confusion as he realized what she was saying she'd done with her phone. "Why would you put it there?"

He also kind of wanted to know _how_. The one that Diggle had setup earlier and left out was taller than the burly bodyguard with bowling-ball biceps, so Oliver couldn't quite picture Felicity reaching the top of it without trying to prop herself up on at least one of the club-like limbs, which would result in her getting thrown off or hit. And any of the fake-arms would have sent her phone flying, too, with at least one branch attacking her in the process if the spring reaction was set anywhere near the level he used it at.

Thinking about it had him looking her over again, but Oliver didn't see any sign that one of the only somewhat padded clubs had hit her. Then again, that could very well be how she might've opened her shoulder wound again, he realized with a glance at the still hidden injury that he quickly returned to his tech girl's face in time to see her grimace.

"To make it harder to try and call you while I was waiting," Felicity admitted, looking down as she finished softly. She slumped slightly in her seat, so that she could rest the nape of her neck against his arm instead of sitting upright. "I was worried."

Oliver swallowed. He knew that. It'd been all over her face when he and Digg had made it back to the basement, even without her thankful exclamation.

She winced. "You didn't..."

"I didn't notice it," Oliver answered when she trailed off, shaking his head. "I was on the salmon ladder for a while."

Felicity sighed, "I should go get—"

"No." Oliver stopped her, tightening his hold just enough to halt her attempt at rising, rather than grabbing for the shoulder he still knew was both hurt and hurting. "The dummy was still out when I left, and their wasn't a broken phone on the floor already. It'll be there in the morning. I'll get it then," he tacked on the last bit because he really didn't want her trying to get it and hurting herself even more if she somehow reached the basement again before him.

Felicity shook her head, "But Diggle—"

"It was a late night. Digg won't be in before me."

Considering what their teammate had learned tonight, and the likelihood that his fake bodyguard would want to beat something up as soon as he got a chance—the training dummies in the basement standing in for the assassin that was out of his reach, Oliver might have to make an effort to make sure of that, but... then again, there was an easier way to avoid her phone being broken.

"I'll text him now, anyway." Oliver said, stretching slightly to grab his coat, tugging it closer till he could pull his phone out of its pocket. He had the text window open maybe half as quickly as the girl that was biting her lower lip tucked under his arm and watching probably would, but she didn't say anything as she watched him thumb the letters in and send the message out.

 _ **OLIVER**_ _ **: Don't attack the W-C dummy without rescuing Felicity's phone first.**_

"Digg checks his phone first thing in the morning?" Felicity asked, still worrying her lower lip as she watched him set the phone down.

Oliver tried not to look at those lips too much, though having her soft curves curled into his side and that curtain of gold draping down around his arm made it more than a little hard to not notice her. "We'll probably hear back from him before that. He's a light sleeper."

That had his tech-girl arching an eyebrow at him. "Do you even sleep?"

Remembering the jab she'd taken at his hood, and when she'd called the green grease paint 'eye makeup' like the dark lines and shadows she'd worn today, Oliver shook his head. The moment itself had made him remember Maseo's incredulity upon finding Oliver at Tommy's birthday party only weeks after he'd helped scare him home. Though that incredulity had as much to do with Oliver hiding his face with only a hoodie as the location and event—two years before the dinner he really shouldn't have invited Felicity to, as a friend or otherwise.

Of course, Felicity's argument lost a lot of face when she'd shortly afterwards followed it up by going undercover with only makeup and an outfit to hide herself. Sure, in that outfit her face wasn't what most men who'd talked to her were noticing; somewhat effectively hiding her in plain sight from everyone. Everyone except for that creep. Unfortunately.

"Once in a while," Oliver confirmed, tone deliberately light as he leaned back, shifting so that she was sinking more comfortably into the cushions and his arm. "Helps that I'm a billionaire."

"Uh-huh. No day job," Felicity's chuckle and eye-roll were somehow rendered nonjudgmental by her small smile as she shook her head. "That's not going to be enough forever, you know."

"And that's why Tommy and I are opening a night club," Oliver nodded, managing to say his best friend's name with only a little bit of a wince. Till his mind caught up with what he just said, and made him wince more. "Assuming he still wants anything to do with the club. Or me."

Felicity looked at him for a moment, but instead of saying anything right away, she looked back at the movie, so Oliver did too.

 _"You know, most normal people get to know each other before they get married," the lawyer was trying to explain. "They date."_

 _The girl that was at least partially based on the PG-version of Cinderella clearly didn't understand. "Date?"_

 _"Yeah, you know._ _ **Date**_ _."_

Then again, Tommy's birthday had demonstrated something specific about Oliver's tech girl. Mainly in how well she'd handled their 'not a date, just friends at a birthday dinner with his ex-girlfriend and possibly ex-best friend.'

At the very least it was of her being much... less sensitive than Helena? More mature? Nicer?

Definitely nicer. He couldn't ever imagine Felicity Smoak reacting so explosively to the realization that Laurel was his ex. Even if it'd taken her by surprise like it had Helena, Felicity wouldn't have turned into the vengeful Huntress.

He couldn't see Felicity choosing to harm, let alone kill, anyone. Maybe not even to protect herself... possibly someone else, but she'd still feel bad about it afterwards.

Shado's idea about yin and yang—the darkness and the light—had seemed like a comfort at the time she'd said it, but over the years Oliver had come to associate himself with only that darkness that'd so scared him the first time he'd literally gotten blood on his hands. Maybe like the yang, in that he had enough light left in him to fight for what was right, to honor his father's wishes, to love his family and friends, and want to save his city. But he wasn't sure he could believe he had another whole half suppressed underneath at all anymore, that was just as light as his dark half.

Felicity was the exact opposite. Like sunshine even when her hair was hidden. Smiles that could light a room brighter than any beacon. Eyes more than bright enough to burn through the darkest shadows. If he was the yang, she'd be the yin, with maybe just enough darkness in her to explain why she could accept his mission.

Why she could accept anything about him, at all. She certainly didn't seem fazed by all the violence that was associated with the vigilante by infamy alone. Oliver had expected her to react more to watching the security footage tonight. But she hadn't. The only negative reaction she'd shown, in fact, was in not liking the need to cut communications and doing it anyway, and she'd shared their concerned confusion over how Malcolm Merlyn had managed to take out two gunmen without a second's hesitation or doubt after the fact. Everything else she hadn't reacted to anymore than she was to the two fictional characters on the television.

 _"Giselle, I hate to disagree with you, but most marriages are considered a success if they manage not to end. Period. Forget about happiness." The divorce lawyer was trying to explain._

 _The princess didn't like his explanation. "Well, what about you and Nancy? You know you will live happily ever after, right?"_

 _"Well, I don't know if I'll make it through today. Let alone a lifetime."_

If Felicity had deliberately picked this movie as some sort of weird, PG crash-course in dating for him after five years away from civilization, Oliver couldn't honestly say he minded. That said PG-crash course seemed to imply that dating was just the realistic alternative to marrying the first individual you met of the opposite gender, and that marrying them pretty much just meant saying vows and kissing, nothing more, was almost amusing.

A little less so as it made Oliver wish, not for the first time, that Thea was still young enough to either believe all boys had cooties or that a first kiss was the only thing worth dreaming about; rather than now having to worry about her sneaking away with boys she didn't even want to introduce him to. He could remember very clearly arguing with the brat about whether Jasmine's closing kiss with Aladdin had involved tongue at all, only caring because he'd known Jasmine was Thea's favorite then and he really didn't like the idea of his baby sister frenching anyone. Still, he had to wonder if he could get his sister to watch a movie like this; one she would've wanted him to watch with her sometime over the last five years if he'd been here...

Watching it with Felicity wasn't the same thing. Which was why Oliver thought he might like the idea of her choice being a crash-course. Even if she'd just randomly picked a movie that she knew was a light hearted comedy only because light-hearted and comedic were something they needed after tonight. From what he'd seen, though, it might be a deliberate combination thereof; it seemed like the sort of thing she might do...

She had before.

"You should talk to Tommy," Felicity's voice was soft again, but an easy distraction from the lawyer and princess debating if love belonged more in reality or dreams and fairytales.

Oliver was wondering who 'Nancy' was, other than the lawyer's soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, which was actually a pretty big leap for Disney to make. Then again it pretty much went hand-in-hand for the literal leap into the real world, didn't it?

But the real girl that was resting her head on his shoulder, her soft words brushing his cheek on their way to his ear, was more important. Only her breaths, though, and he tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed at that. He didn't miss the days when it would've been expected of him to turn his head and lean towards her lips. Not really. But he would prefer kissing her to starting the talk about his troubles with his best friend already, or at all. Even though that was why he could justify bothering her tonight, invited or not.

"Not right away, of course. Give him a little time to cool down." Felicity half shrugged.

Oliver couldn't help noticing that the motion was limited to her unhurt shoulder; an even clearer sign that her injury was still bothering her. Or bothering her again now. It didn't matter to him that the cut was small. It _existed_ , and it _shouldn't_.

"Stay out of his way with the club," the blonde went on. "That's what you've mostly been doing anyway, right?"

It was, but somehow that didn't make the idea of acting like nothing had changed easier to swallow.

Felicity still didn't wait for an answer, her question apparently rhetorical. "Let him cool down a little, Oliver," she repeated a again. "Let him breathe, and think. Then, when he's ready; be ready to talk."

Completely reasonable advice, Oliver knew. Except he had a hard enough time waiting when it was necessary: part of stealth, surveillance and the like. Waiting just for waiting, for his friend to make the first move, felt like it would—and should—be a lot harder. Sometimes what was right was harder, and it was supposed to be, but that didn't make it any less right.

Oliver found himself watching the movie instead of answering, listening as the princess and a bunch of other people sang about love in New York City's Central Park. Part of him remained surprised to find himself so content here. At how easily the scent of sunshine still coming from Felicity's hair as she relaxed under his arm made it to relax, listen, watch and breathe.

Felicity continued nearly too softly to be heard over the cheery song, even with her lips still so near his ear. "And Oliver? Even though you showed him the truth tonight, he deserves to actually hear it."

He was trying to think of a response for that as she finished.

"And you need to tell him, for yourself, too."

This wasn't about him, not really, so he started to shake his head, but she went on again before he could open his mouth, her voice surprisingly firm.

"You _need_ to tell him what's going on, Oliver. What your dad did. Why you're doing... everything." Felicity wrapped her slender fingers through his much larger ones, squeezing gently.

Oliver reflexively turned his head when she shifted around to sit up enough to meet his gaze steadily, though he intentionally kept his hand supporting her slender back: to keep her from hurting herself by moving her arm the wrong way again.

"Otherwise you'll lose him." Those blue eyes were burning bright again, earnest concern clear. "He might not say anything. He probably won't turn you in." She shook her head slowly. "But he won't be your friend anymore if you give up on him without any fight."

Oliver swallowed, nodding as he saw the wisdom in her words. While wondering exactly how he'd deserved to find someone like her; who knew exactly what to say when he needed to hear it. Just talking with her, about anything, was enough to make him feel better—getting good advice on how to maybe make things better on top of that seemed like more than he could deserved.

A large part of him didn't think he deserved his best friend back, either, but the utter _hurt_ that'd been on Tommy's face when Oliver had answered his question honestly still cut at him. At the very least, he had to try and make things better for that.

Felicity gently tugged her hand away then, before leaning into him again, just like she had last week, too. Resting her head on his shoulder, her face still turned towards the movie as he rewrapped his arm around her without even thinking about it.

Apparently she'd said her piece—both about her making her own choices, though that'd probably come up again, and about his own problems. And now they were supposed to watch the story of a fairytale princess meeting someone in the real world. Just in time for Oliver to realize they were meeting the lawyer's soon to be ex as he managed to make up with her for the moment with the heroine's help.

 _"These are exquisite!" A brunette woman was smiling at the lead, "Where do you find live doves in New York City?"_

 _"Oh... it's a long story," the lawyer's laugh was understandably uncomfortable._

 _"And these?" the brunette held what looked like tickets up eagerly. "Oh! We're going to a ball?"_

 _"Well, you don't have to if you don't want to." He told her, clearly not reading how thrilled she was over the idea even though it was all over her face._

 _"Are you kidding me?" she shook her head, still smiling widely. "It's so romantic. So spontaneous."_

 _"Good," the lead smiled slightly, still looking a little baffled._

 _"I can't wait," his girlfriend of the moment assured him with a giggle._

 _"Good. Great. And... as far as Giselle's concerned, I'm... I'm just trying to help her. Honestly, nothing's_ — _"_

 _"You know what?" Nancy cut him off, still visibly pleased with the flowers and the idea of going to a ball. "If you say nothing happened? Nothing happened. I trust you."_

And abruptly the movie was stabbing very close to home for Oliver all over again.

How many times had Laurel given Ollie another chance, only for him to throw it away, sometimes mere days later? Again, and again, and again. He'd kept going back to her, and she'd kept taking him back: an unbreakable bad habit for both of them until she'd tried to take a step forward in their relationship that'd scared the living daylights out of him. Had him bringing her baby sister aboard the _Queen's Gambit_ , because a part of him had known that if there was one thing she'd never forgive it was that. Even if the boat hadn't gone down, and Sara hadn't survived only to die in almost exactly the same way maybe a mere year later.

Could that be why Oliver had clung to the idea of returning to Laurel so desperately? Because he could remember, more than once, believing Lian Yu was his punishment for running, for betraying her, and maybe if he intended to makeup with her it'd end sooner?

Five years later, Oliver had known better than to expect anything other than anger and no forgiveness from her, but he'd still had to apologize. It was a step that had to be taken, for him to be at least a slightly better man.

Truthfully, it'd been a bit of a relief to realize Laurel had moved on with Tommy of all people. Maybe the only man in the world that Oliver would never honestly try to take her from—even before everything, it would've given him pause when he was sober. That they were happy together now wasn't something Oliver could regret. Something Helena hadn't been able to see, or even remotely understand.

Oliver's phone vibrating on the table distracted both of them from the movie; he could feel Felicity's eyes following his hand as he grabbed the device, pressing his thumbprint to the screen to unlock it again before reading their teammate's unsurprising response beneath the message he'd sent a few minutes ago.

 _ **OLIVER**_ _ **: Don't attack the W-C dummy without rescuing Felicity's phone first.**_

 _ **DIGG**_ _ **: OK?**_

Oliver snorted, smirking slightly as he showed the screen to the curious blonde.

Felicity rolled her eyes, but didn't try to grab the phone like he'd half expected. "Would the two of you have preferred if I'd called while you were fighting off Triad goons trying to get the ambulance or staging a high-speed getaway from the cops?"

Oliver shook his head, still smirking slightly, as amused by her friendly annoyance as he was content with her still being tucked under his arm. Instead of answering, he thumbed a quick reply to Diggle.

 _ **OLIVER**_ _ **: It's on top. Somehow.**_

Almost completely ignoring the reason Diggle's agreement had come with a question mark after it. Mainly because all the questions in said mark were ones their tech genius hadn't really answered for him either. Oliver was sure the short wait was the former solider trying to mentally picture Felicity somehow convincing the dummy to let her do that without being attacked by it and failing as spectacularly as he had. Imagining it again, and every time he'd seen her flinch tonight, made him wince.

 _ **DIGG**_ _ **: Why?**_

 _ **OLIVER**_ _ **: She was worried.**_

 _ **DIGG**_ _ **: Right.**_

Oliver almost didn't bother sending more, but he knew that the whole thing would probably be worrying the older man, too, and he had more than enough problems to not think about tonight. So he added the rest just because he knew it'd amuse their friend.

 _ **OLIVER**_ _ **: I stopped to check on her. We're watching a movie.**_

"Really?" Felicity interjected then, surprising Oliver only because she hadn't spoken up earlier so he'd thought she was enthralled in the heroic chipmunk's plight or prince charming's fascination with a television. "You two really have to talk about it this much?"

"We're not talking," Oliver reminded her, teasing because he could and it felt right, too. "We're texting."

"Same thing," his tech-girl grumbled just as their missing team member responded again.

 _ **DIGG**_ _ **: Right. See you in the A.M then.**_

 _ **OLIVER**_ _ **: Goodnight.**_

Oliver obligingly sent back the obligatory farewell; an easy feat now since his new phone—maybe most phones, from the sounds of it—needed only a few letters before it was offering a list of options for the words he might want, and goodnight was the first one there. Though the same feature had come up with some strange words in the same fashion, too. The likes of which could've been compared to Felicity's filter-less tongue occasionally, if Oliver didn't always look at the whole message before he sent it out.

"There, done," Oliver told her, setting the phone down on the side table beside the couch, before looking back at the blonde that was still pouting slightly. "Now I'm going to look at your shoulder."

Unlike every other time he'd mentioned her injury earlier tonight, Felicity didn't stiffen in surprise or even try to pull away. Her pout just turned into a baleful look. "You are, are you?" she asked it, sarcasm drying out each word even as her eyes stayed fixed on the movie he wasn't watching.

"Felicity, you're—"

"Fine."

"—obviously hurting," Oliver finished adamantly, ignoring her interruption entirely since she wasn't even trying to pull away from him as she said it.

Felicity finally looked up at him, their eyes meeting again, reminding him of that frown she'd given him the first time he'd demanded to see her injury back in the Foundry. But then she at last sighed, and started to roll up the loose sleeve of the nightshirt she'd changed into till he could see that bunch of bandages around her arm again.

"Sure you don't want to change?" Oliver asked her, relaxing a little because there was no red line of blood on the wrappings this time.

Felicity looked down at her shoulder, then shook her head. "You can see it just fine," she told him. "And the shoulder's not that tight."

"No, but you might bleed on your sleeve," Oliver pointed out, because even if the wound hadn't reopened on its own, pulling the bandages away to check it could obviously break the scab.

"I have others," the tech girl replied unconcerned, but then she let go of the sleeve, letting it fall back down around her arm before he could reach it. "But you're just looking, right? I just changed—"

"If it looks okay, I won't need to do anything," Oliver cut in calmly. Because of course she'd changed the bandages after her shower. She would've had to or they would still be wet no matter how carefully she tried to angle them away from the shower's spray. The idea really hadn't occurred to him, though; maybe because she'd been so surprisingly quick in there.

Felicity sighed, but rolled up the sleeve again, looking up at him expectantly.

Oliver looked back for a moment, contemplating whether she was expecting him to get up and switch sides just to be difficult. Her eyes seemed to indicate yes, she was. So he accepted that challenge by turning to slide one arm under her knees, scooping her up so that she fell back into the arm around her shoulders with a sound that was somewhere between a yelp and a giggle. Then he twisted, carefully tilting her till she fell sideways across his lap, continuing to maneuver her there till he had easy access to her shoulder—though it meant he had to really focus on ignoring her warm weight in his lap. It managed to replace that mulish, challenging look with a little smile, rather than upsetting her further, so he counted it as a win as he started to tug her sleeve up because she'd let it fall again when he'd surprised her.

Felicity was no more help with the bandages than she'd been with accessing them. She just laid there, relaxed in her visible amusement as she watched him work at carefully loosening the bandages with one hand; his other one trapped by the fact that that arm was stuck acting as her backrest. Except the mischievous smile she was wearing wasn't really a good distraction from the weight of her soft curves or the golden hair that was starting to curl a little as it air-dried around her head and his arm, so he forced himself to focus on just her shoulder and the injury that shouldn't be there but was.

It was smaller than Oliver remembered—very probably blown out of proportion in his mind by his aggravation at its existence—a soft scab sealing it shut so no blood was leaking out even after he'd shifted the bandaged that'd been covering it. It was still a very new scab though, so Oliver was careful as he gently prodded the muscle around it somewhat surprised by just how toned her arm was. He stopped quickly though, unable to miss the way Felicity's smile fell with a very slight flinch at even his careful touches.

But it also looked a lot better than he could've expected; a very deliberate cut still, not the accident she'd tried to insist it'd been, but it was healing well. So he carefully rewrapped it then with one hand, and re-clipped it in place with the clasp he'd removed to look at it.

"So I pass?" Felicity asked, her tone light but not quite managing to hide her worry because she then bit her bottom lip ever so slightly.

"It looks better," Oliver had to admit, but he didn't let her get up from his lap yet, shifting so that she fell back against his arm again when she tried.

"Oliver, what—"

"Are you still saying it was an accident?" he wanted to know. Not able to understand why she wouldn't tell him about this in the first place. Why she hadn't run back inside the Foundry, to him, for safety when someone attacked her. Let alone why she'd keep lying about it once her injury was found out.

Felicity didn't meet his eyes as she sighed, "Oliver—"

"It's a straight line, Felicity. A clear _cut_ ," Oliver cut her off, catching her chin with his free hand to turn her face back towards his. "Those don't happen _accidentally_ when you stumble in the dark. They happen when a blade cuts them."

The blonde bit her lip again, then her eyes dropped closed as she sighed again. "Oliver, I'm _fine_."

Oliver shook his head, "That's not—"

"You just saw for yourself," she insisted, big blue eyes opening to look up at him imploringly. "You said it looks—"

"That's not the point!" Oliver interrupted, tone sharper than he'd intended, but softening with barely a thought when it made her flinch in his arms. "Felicity, why didn't you tell me? Tell us? Why—"

"Because it doesn't _matter!_ " Felicity cried, shaking her head rapidly enough to make the half-dried tendrils of her hair swish back and forth each way.

Oliver's arms tightened automatically around her, but she didn't really seem to be trying to escape so he made himself relax just a little, though his hold on her stayed tighter than it was before. "Of course it matters," he frowned down at her. "You were hurt—"

"We've already established _I'm fine_ ," she broke in adamantly again, looking away from his gaze. "You saw—"

"And what did it look like when it first happened?" Oliver demanded, scowling now. "After some punk _attacked you_ right outside my door and you _didn't tell me?_ "

Felicity gazed up at him, clear consideration not visibly fazed or rushed by the agitation in his voice or on his face. Then she looked down. "Put me down, Oliver," she ordered softly, shaking her head and adding when he instinctively tightened his arms instead. "We're in my home. I'm not going to run away. Put me down."

Oliver thought he might've preferred if she'd just struggled to get away, fought her way out of his arms forcefully enough for him to realize he had to let her go. He thought that'd be easier than her asking like this. All soft words and politeness.

"Now, please," she added a little less softly.

Oliver sighed as he obeyed, sliding sideways on the couch before shifting to set her in the place that'd been his a moment before: leaving her almost as contained, snugly tucked between him and the armrest.

Felicity's lips quirked slightly as if amused at the tactic, but then she took a long breath and met his eyes once more. "You have an awful lot of scars yourself, Oliver. Are _you_ ready to talk about them?"

Oliver blinked at her, startled to silence for a second before he was shaking his own head. "That's not the same—"

"It's _exactly_ the same thing." Her voice was even, and unexpectedly a lot harder than he'd ever heard her sound before. "Trust takes time, doesn't it? It took you almost four months to decide to trust me. And even then, that probably had more to do with the fact that you were bleeding out and my car was the only escape that wouldn't end with a police escort to the hospital followed by prison."

Oliver made himself stop shaking his head when he realized he was still doing it, as he tried to answer her accusation just as evenly as she'd delivered it. "I don't just _tell_ people _easily_ , Felicity. It has nothing to do with trust. It's—"

"It has _everything_ to do with trust," Felicity cut him off just as crisply. "And that's fine," she nodded, holding his gaze steadily. "You have your secrets, Oliver. And so do I. Everyone does." Her head moved from side-to-side so slowly he could barely be called a headshake. "If tonight should've proven anything? It's that some secrets are harder to tell than keep."

Oliver swallowed, "Felicity, someone attacking you isn't anything like me being the vigilante."

She snorted, and it was kind of adorable. "How would you know? It's _my_ secret, not _yours_ ," her tone switched back to teasing. "You don't have any idea what it is."

"We would've helped—"

"I know." The teasing gave way to gravity again, but her voice stayed soft. "I know, Oliver. But I didn't need you to help. What happened, happened. And I am fine."

"But why didn't you—"

"Please, Oliver. Let it go."

He stared down into her eyes, not quite able to read them this time, but that look and the way she said 'please'—tired and world weary in that way he knew but never wanted her to be—held his tongue for a long second.

"For now, at least," she tacked on, one hand coming up to cup his jaw gently. "I think we've had more than enough surprises for the night, don't you?"

Oliver almost agreed automatically, just because she clearly wanted him to. He caught himself before he could nod into her palm, staring steadily down into her gaze. But that look did tell him she wasn't going to give in on this, so he finally nodded just slightly enough to signal momentary agreement.

"Thank you," she told him, serious stare slipping away into a soft smile that fit her pretty face so much better.

Again, Oliver's response was automatic, and he didn't try to stop the smile, despite everything that they apparently weren't talking about yet.

"So... should we rewind the movie?" Felicity asked, making him blink, then glance at the screen in time to see the princess waltzing with the lawyer. The gown she was wearing now looked more like real-world fashion, while the lawyer's outfit looked like a prince charming costume that was slightly more understated than the one the fairytale prince was running around New York in. Actually, the former cartoon prince had evidently managed to find Giselle at some point earlier, because no one looked surprised to see him standing next to Nancy when she cut in.

"No, I think I've got the gist of it," Oliver told her, amused that she'd actually asked.

Years back, Thea would've paused the movie and started making him answer questions to prove he'd been watching, but apparently Felicity didn't take movies quite as seriously as his preteen sister. She accepted his decision with a nod, and they looked back to the movie to watch the couples part. The prince then showed some slight awareness by noticing his bride's sadness, but he readily accepted her reassurances, like Oliver couldn't Felicity's. Then again, the 'engaged' couple had actually _just_ met, and the prince wasn't supposed to be that bright anyway. Which was why he left her alone in time for his step-mother to show up as the evil hag again.

Watching the heroine let herself be talked into taking a bite of the poison apple was more painful than Oliver remembered the first Snow White being. And he'd had four-year-old Thea sitting right next to him then, shouting almost straight into his ear words that the cartoon character couldn't hear even as they'd beaten his eardrums plenty. It took him the entire scene to realize why. The fairytale being played out relatively realistically in the 'real world' was just more poignant than two or three dimensional drawings could ever be.

Yes, they were really only actors playing their parts and the prop apple probably wasn't poisonous; in fact it probably wasn't an actual apple or even edible. Still, skillful acting shaping real faces somehow just made it painfully _almost_ real.

It also might have something to do with the woman that was resting in his arms, too, though he couldn't quite say what it was about the princess that reminded him of Felicity. The sunny personality was a given, but he thought it might be something more... something he couldn't see clearly, but it was there.

It wasn't that he thought she was crazy. Or anywhere near stupid, even though her not telling him about someone hurting her _and_ refusing to talk about it afterwards couldn't make any sense to him, anymore than the running at night by the Glades did.

Oliver wasn't oblivious. It'd been obvious well before Felicity came out and said it that that she was hiding something. Like she said, everyone had secrets; he did, and so did she.

He'd have an easier time just accepting that at face value if her secrets didn't tie into someone hurting her. Something she shouldn't ever keep to herself...

Then again, she didn't seem to have any friends or family nearby to notice her hurting either. Oliver and Diggle hadn't been looking, because neither of them had any reason to believe they should.

But Oliver had wondered about her seemingly solitary lifestyle. At first, he'd worried that she might have an even harder time hiding her newest hobby (it couldn't really be called a job because there'd been no discussion of payment). He was creating the night club, after all, at least partially to cover 'where he was' all the time when he was wearing the Hood. Bringing Tommy on hadn't been part of that plan, because it ran the risk of his friend saying that no, Oliver wasn't at the club all night, but maybe that could work out okay now.

But Felicity hadn't had nearly as hard a time with friends wondering where she was disappearing off to when she came to the basement to work on his computers after most workdays instead of going home. She never mentioned any problems, or needing any nights off, and the few calls that'd come in on her cell hadn't sounded like someone who was looking for her.

In fact, those few phone calls she'd answered had sounded more like everyone she was talking to weren't in Starling City at all. Odd, considering how bright and bubbly she was. It wasn't like she'd just moved here to start working at Q.C even a few months ago. She was here when ARGUS had brought him home for a mission; that was the first time he'd seen her, two years ago. He couldn't quite imagine her not finding some friends in that much time...

Still, Oliver had just agreed not to press, for now, so he could only hope that how she'd been cut was the most dangerous of those secrets she shouldn't be keeping. Well, that and hopefully she didn't habitually go running at night, because then he'd have to wonder if she just had no sense of self-preservation at all.

The evil witch's victorious cackles drew his attention back to the screen just in time to see a sword stop the elevator doors from closing, as the prince got there just in the nick of time. Only to stare at the villain he found there.

 _"Edward?" the villain acted surprised to see him._

 _While prince charming actually was astonished to see his step-mother in the real world. "Mother?"_

 _The woman flashed him a wide smile as she spread her arms as if to hug him, "Edward!" Her smile dropped when his gaze went to the girl on the floor behind her. "Yes. Oh, her? I was taking her out for a little fresh air. She seems to have swooned."_

Oliver's brow furrowed as he started to see another comparison he liked even less than the first. "You didn't pick this movie because the hero finds out his mother's the wicked witch in it, did you?" he was a bit relieved when Felicity's eyes were very visibly startled as she shot to his.

"No!" she shook her head quickly. "Of course not." She started to reach for the remote then, but Oliver stopped her.

"Never mind, it's fine," he reassured her, even though the equivalence was a bit disturbing for him.

Felicity stayed tense, as if contemplating reaching for the remote again anyway, for a long moment, then she sighed and relaxed. "She's more Regina than Elphaba though."

"What?" Oliver blinked, distracted from the heroes trying to figure out how to save the heroine from the poison apple while the villain was visibly pleased even with a sword to her throat.

"Elphaba. The Wicked Witch?" Felicity met his stare for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. _Once Upon A Time_ 's newer, but _Wicked_ was at least a few years before you were shipwrecked. You really didn't even see the musical?" she sighed when he just looked at her blankly. "That's just depressing. Idina Menzel's not even in it anymore. I mean, she hasn't been for a while now, but—"

"Who?" Oliver interrupted before she could babble anymore about something he knew nothing about.

"Idina Menzel? She's..." Felicity trailed off, her eyes studying him intently, then she sighed. "You weren't very good with pop culture even before 'the island,' were you?"

Oliver blinked, but saw no reason to deny it. "No."

"Uh-huh, something else to work on then," she decided before gesturing to the screen just in time for him to turn and see the lawyer kissing the princess while the prince watched hopefully in the background. "She's Nancy here. Actress. Great singer. You should've seen her in the musical _Wicked_ , but I don't have a time travel machine so I guess I'll just make you listen to the soundtrack."

"Okay?" Oliver blinked slowly, not looking away from the screen as everyone celebrated true love's kiss working—the prince smiling as the lawyer and now awake princess kissed again—until the villain got away from her former henchman. His lips twitched when the woman made herself transform again, this time into a dragon like the Sleeping Beauty villain. At least her stepson was no longer front and center, and he'd already disowned her anyway.

Though Oliver could say with absolute certainty his mother had no magical powers that'd let her turn herself into a dragon or a falsely helpful hag. In the _real_ real world, hiring an assassin was more in line with what a powerful, wealthy woman would do if they needed to get rid of somebody, and there was too much pointing at the possibility that she may have done exactly that. Maybe she had a good reason to want Tommy's dad dead; he obviously had his own less than pristine history, too. But it was still a weight Oliver never expected to find himself struggling to stand under.

"Pretty sure my mom can't do that," Oliver said, not entirely sure why, but he kept going anyway. "Turn into a dragon, I mean. She can do a good impression though if she really wants to. Not so much the hag, though, I think she still takes her biweekly trips to spas to avoid that."

Felicity sighed, "Oliver, that's not—"

"I know," he cut her off with a slow shrug. "I'm just saying."

Well, there was a little more to it than that, he knew as they watched the evil dragon grab the lawyer and carry him off, the heroine losing a shoe like Cinderella as she ran out of the ball, though she was running after the dragon while pretty much everyone else was running away. It was definitely more motivated towards female empowerment, in the end, than any of the earlier Disney movies. If only because it wasn't ending with the kiss and the prince—wherever he'd gone—wasn't the one going to slay the dragon. The so-called 'battle' on the rooftop was completely absurd, even for a fight involving a mythical creature, but it was entertaining in that somewhat expected way, too. In the 'happily ever after' end, the movie was uplifting in the way nothing about tonight had been. Or could be.

"So," Felicity politely covered a small yawn as the credits started rolling, before going on, "John's not going to murder my phone, right?"

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her, "Why would he?"

"It's on the dummy that needs a smiley face. Or a frowney face. Maybe some tears, too."

Oliver snorted, "The training equipment doesn't need faces."

"It needs something," she sighed, covering another soft yawn as she leaned into him a little more, her eyelids starting to look heavy. "You pick the next movie."

"Looks like you'd be better off heading to bed," Oliver observed, a little concerned.

She had said earlier that she expected insomnia courtesy of all the worry and surprises that'd come with the night. That was hopefully why she'd decided to go running near the Glades in the middle of the night, rather than it being a semi-regular thing. A few hours later, though, the energy she'd wound all of those stresses into running must be unwinding, for her at least. So her bed must be calling.

"Nuh-uh. It's Saturday, and I'm not actually scheduled to work tomorrow, so we should have a movie marathon. Pick one," Felicity insisted, frowning as she glanced at the screen. "But not that one."

Oliver didn't even look at the movie listings that'd come up after the credits, hadn't even bothered to reach for the remote as he asked, "Why not?"

"Because I will never be able to have any faith in your taste or intelligence if you pick that. Oh, and hand me the clock, please."

"What?" Oliver blinked at her, then followed her hand as she pointed at the table in the center of the coffee table in front of them.

"The clock, please. It needs to be reset."

"That's right," he remembered as he reached for it, just barely able to grab the time-telling device without pulling away from the woman that was still tucked into his side. Handing her the clock, he made the slightly lesser reach to the remote. "You lost power earlier. The lights flickered when you were in the shower for a couple of seconds."

"Hmm," Felicity hummed noncommittally as she finished setting the time and what looked like an alarm, before putting the clock on the table next to the couch, and her, instead of sending it back to the coffee table. "There, all set," she looked at the screen, where he'd just started tapping buttons to make it roll through possible selections, then her eyes were back on him. "So? What's next?"

The playfulness in her eyes and the stubborn set of her lips gave Oliver ideas he really shouldn't be having—though they were ideas that'd come all on their own more than a few times, too—so he looked back at the T.V to start going through the movies as commanded.

"Not that one, either," his hostess insisted as soon as he stopped on one, making Oliver raise an eyebrow at her.

"I thought I was the one picking here?" he asked her, struggling to keep any sort of smile from showing as he stared into those playful eyes till the ideas made him look away yet again.

"You are," Felicity maintained primly, "I'm just vetoing the really bad ones that aren't bad enough to be funny. And the depressing ones."

Oliver chuckled, but deferentially went down to the row of comedy movies and started going sideways there. He stopped more than once on movies he'd seen—and fully expected her to 'veto'—just to hear her protests. Some more explosive than others, but each and every time a little bit of normalcy he wasn't sure had ever really been in his life. Even years before _The Gambit_ , in the platinum-spoon childhood that Diggle had correctly accused him of during the ex-soldiers initial reaction to Oliver choosing to reveal the hood and hideout to him.

That childhood was something most people couldn't imagine: the best of everything, yes, but also plenty of expectations that could never be met along with strangers hounding him for pictures that quickly meant everyone knew who he was. And no one did.

Sometimes Tommy did, of course; the similarities between the Queen and Merlyn heirs couldn't be denied, but differences were there. Parental pressure for one. After his mother's murder and his father's abandonment, Tommy's desire for approval from Malcolm Merlyn was nearly nonexistent. In fact for a good while there a lot of what Tommy did, and got him to do (though that went both ways), had a lot to do with silently showing his dad that his lack of caring could be turned right back on him. And if he didn't care, he didn't need to even attempt to meet the seemingly impossible expectations the man might set for him. The media were often kinder to Tommy, too; the specter of his mother's murder something that they saw casting a long shadow over all his life. That, and the very few times his father's fury was stirred on his behalf probably scared years off of more than a few of their lives—and rightly so, given his striking combat skills. Though it was mostly his icy demeanor that people consciously recognized.

Robert Queen had been just as successful and influential, after all, more so in some cases. But he never abandoned his family. He wasn't cold and cutting. He was just almost always working. Save the times that he set aside for his family, though those were farther and fewer between than Tommy seemed to remember.

The regular parties had been more for all their 'friends' than the family that hosted them. Every time they went to the movies it was a private showing with Q.C security watching over the C.E.O more and more as _Queen Consolidated_ , Robert Queen's fortune, and Oliver's inheritance, grew. Box seats at theaters and sports games that were just as well protected. Private boarding school after private boarding school. Summer camps most of the summer, too. Very, very rarely was any day just about the family.

When Thea was a baby seemed to be the biggest exception: helping Oliver realize how he could be the best big brother in the world to the doll size little girl had been important to their father. The added attention that Thea brought back home—not as much as they'd ever hope, but more than Oliver alone had gotten before—had made it easy to welcome her running along after him and Tommy most of the time. But Thea had nannies and boarding schools and camps, too. Only 'normal' if you were talking about the other privileged children of the wealthy who also went days, sometimes more, without ever seeing their parents.

For a little while, it'd seemed like Laurel Lance could be Oliver's 'normal.' At the start, she'd tried to see him for him; not the billionaire's son, not the partying playboy he was starting to be even back in high school; but just Ollie. That wasn't what'd drawn him to her in high school, or even what'd made him stay, but it probably had a lot to do with why he kept going back. That couldn't last forever, though, and eventually she'd wanted to move forward before he'd even considered considering it. Though he'd seen it coming before she actually brought it up; how could he not? There were only so many references to their friends who also were dating she could make before even he noticed the connections. He just hadn't let it be real till she said it.

Whatever it was developing here with Felicity was new in every sense of the word. Her acceptance and compassion were heady experiences all to themselves, but they did leave Oliver wondering when the expectations would start and the lines would be drawn. So in that way her secrets—seemingly stupid and incomprehensible though they were—were also kind of a relief. Just like each time she challenged him was; though that was as much because of the feelings that charged the air between them like a live current, too.

This was new, and even if it was undeserved he did want to try it. So maybe, just maybe, he could become a better man while fulfilling his father's dying wish. It hadn't seemed possible only months ago, when he'd faked being drunk during the day so he could rant about unwanted expectations in public so that his mother couldn't quite pretend it hadn't happened.

Wherever they were going to go though, right now they were just going to sit here and watch another movie. Hopefully falling asleep in the process...

* * *

 _End of_ _ **Chapter 4: Deadly Dances**_.

 _...NEXT:_ _ **Chapter 5: Bloody Secrets**_.

 _Because some secrets are always about blood..._

 _XXX._

* * *

 _Author's End Note: For those of you that are following this story exclusively on : hi! It's been a while. Sorry for the wait. And a friendly reminder, once again: the chapters of this story are posted as individual stories (with each scene being a chapter) on ArchiveOfOurOwn. The next part of the series is already being posted there, so you're welcome to it._

 _If not, well I hope you're enjoying the story here even with the prolonged waits!_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _~ Jess S_


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